


Two Sides of the Same Coin

by thucydides_groupie



Series: Choose Your Own Adventure [2]
Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Choose Your Own Adventure, Drunken Confessions, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Historical Accuracy, Historical Inaccuracy, On Hiatus, Slow Burn, oh look! something else no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 78,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26207503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thucydides_groupie/pseuds/thucydides_groupie
Summary: How the storyline would've changed if Molly decided to stay in Setauket for Season 3.Alternate timeline to "I'll Let My Stories Be Whispered When I'm Gone" -- Read series description for more infoON HIATUS
Relationships: Benjamin Tallmadge/Original Female Character(s), John Graves Simcoe/Original Female Character(s), John Graves Simcoe/Original Female Character(s)/Benjamin Tallmadge
Series: Choose Your Own Adventure [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1903081
Comments: 38
Kudos: 21





	1. 2x10

**Author's Note:**

> This story follows the timeline where Chapter 1x01 to 2x09 are the same. However, in 2x10, Molly makes a different choice. That minor decision alters the direction and outcome of the story.

Molly awoke the next morning to someone shaking her awake. She didn’t even bother to show surprise or worry at who it might be. As soon as she was conscious again, the feeling of dread and illness possessed her. And, although she had just woken up, she suddenly felt exhausted, and in need of a nap. She didn’t want to be there. She didn’t want to be awake.

“Molly. Wake up.”

She opened her eyes groggily and found herself looking up at her sister-in-law.

“What?” she mumbled,

The tavern didn’t open for a couple more hours.

“Aren’t you going to see Cicero off?”

Molly closed her eyes again and exhaled heavily. She had completely forgotten. Last night, after all the chaos ended, Anna and Abe had walked her to the edge of town before returning to Whitehall. Anna had told her the news on the way. Akinbode received permission to escort Cicero to York City. They were to leave in the morning… _that_ morning.

Despite how miserable she felt, Molly managed to push herself out of bed. She didn’t bother getting dressed or pulled a blanket over herself to be modest. Anna didn’t question her decision. She knew that Molly was still reeling from what happened last night. She followed Anna out of the small room and out to the front of the tavern.

Simcoe, Akinbode, and Cicero were waiting for them. Anna had already said her goodbyes, so it was Molly’s turn. Molly smiled tiredly and pulled Cicero into a hug. She squeezed him tight.

“It won’t be the same here without you.” She said.

“I’ll miss you too.”

They pulled away, but Molly stood there with her hands on Cicero’s shoulders for a minute. She just looked at him.

“What?” he chuckled.

She smiled, in spite of everything, “I’m making sure I don’t forget your face. I am going to miss you. Truly… Good luck. Tell your mother we send our love.”

Akinbode rolled his eyes at the comment, but Molly ignored him.

“I will.” Cicero promised.

He hugged Molly and Anna a final time and then Akinbode helped him onto his horse before mounting his own. Cicero waved at them as he rode, following behind Akinbode. They waved back. After a few moments, Anna turned and reentered the tavern. But Molly stood there, beside Simcoe. They watched Cicero and Akinbode until they were out of sight.

That’s when Molly realized that Simcoe was looking at her. She briefly glanced at him. She couldn’t blame him; she knew she must be quite a sight. She was barefoot, in only her nightgown. Her hair was unpinned and loose, and she knew her hair was tangled and sticking up on one side of her head from where she had slept on it. Then there was her smell. After she’d returned to the tavern last night, she had trouble falling asleep. So, she got drunk. That morning, she could smell the stale alcohol on herself.

“What?” she asked.

She didn’t even bother trying to be formal. For the first time, she didn’t care what Simcoe thought of her. That feeling of numbness that had swept her last night, it was still with her.

“Are you alright, Ms. Strong?”

She exhaled sharply through her nose. It was meant to indicate some sort of amusement, but she doubted it translated. “No.”

A beat.

“Do you want a drink?” Molly asked.

She wasn’t sure why she asked him that. It came to her mind, and she just started speaking.

“No.” He replied hesitantly, “No, thank you.”

Molly shrugged, “I think I’ll have one.”

Without another word, she turned and walked back inside the tavern. Simcoe did not follow her. And she did just what she said. She walked behind the bar and began pouring herself a drink.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

Molly narrowed her eyes. Anna was stood beside the staircase, watching her sister-in-law.

“Don’t you think you should mind your own business?” Molly muttered, taking a swig from her cup.

She wasn’t sure why she said that either. Whenever Anna, or anyone for that matter, said something that annoyed her, Molly just ignored them. But she didn’t want to ignore Anna this morning.

Anna ignored the remark and walked over to the bar. The bar separated the women. She pulled something out of the pocket hidden in her skirts. It was MacInnis’ flask. Molly eyed the flask for a second, then she took another long drink

“We need to talk about how we’re going to plant this.” Anna whispered.

Molly scoffed. “Don’t look at me.” Anna raised her eyebrows in surprise. “I’m not having anything to do with that.”

She finished her drink and began pouring herself another one. Anna reached out and grabbed Molly’s wrist, stopping her from fully filling her mug. Molly glared at her.

“What?” Molly snapped.

“You’ve had enough.”

They looked at each other for a second, then Molly lashed out and grabbed Anna by the collar of her dress, pulling her forward, so that she was half laying on the bar top. Anna yelped in surprise and watched the scowl form on Molly’s face.

“I used to beat you up when we were children. Don’t think I won’t do it again.” Molly growled. She shoved her away and returned to pouring herself another drink.

* * *

By midday, the tavern was open and bustling with people. Molly worked silently and mechanically, wandering around and filling and refilling mugs. The redcoats and Rangers were drinking on opposite sides of the tavern. Despite the differences between their leaders, the men were currently engaged in a competition regarding drinking songs. They were arguing over which song was better. The redcoats sang the verses of their preference while the Rangers sand the verses of their preference. They were talking turns chanting the lyrics throughout the tavern.

Molly had to admit, she was very invested in the competition. It was one of the more memorable happenings at the tavern. She took a break to lean against the wall on the Rangers’ side of the tavern and listen to the men playfully shout at each other.

Several of the Rangers had risen to their feet to walk over and taunt the redcoats. Their laughter quickly disappeared though when one of the Rangers said, “Hey, where'd you get that flask? That's Maclnnis'.”

The redcoat in question looked down at his table and picked up the flask. He seemed surprised by its presence.

He shrugged, “Oh. What's it doing here and where's my bloody flask?”

The Ranger spat, “To hell with yours! Where's Maclnnis and Tanner? They ain't showed today and they didn't show yesterday.”

Molly noticed more of the Rangers rising to their feet, walking over to confirm if it was MacInnis’ flask.

Molly looked around for Anna, but she couldn’t see her over the sea of men. This was Anna’s doing. She had switched out the redcoat’s flask for MacInnis’ to prevent his disappearance from connecting them – Molly, Anna, and Abe – to the crime.

The redcoat rolled his eyes, “Well, when they do show their sorry selves, tell them to return my property, the thieving toyles!”

The Ranger attacked the redcoat. Soon the entire tavern erupted into a brawl. Molly pushed herself into the furthest corner, trying to avoid becoming a victim. After a few seconds, several of the Rangers managed to get ahold of a redcoat and they threw him out the tavern window. The fight began to migrate outside as the men struggled against one another.

Just as quickly as the fight started, the fighting ended. When the redcoat went flying out the window, the redcoats on sentry duty outside drew their muskets. Upon seeing this, the Rangers drew their muskets. Both groups of men stood there in a stalemate.

Despite what had happened, Molly couldn’t help peeking her head outside the destroyed window frame. She wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t feel afraid. She watched as further chaos ensued.

“Stand fast!”

It was Simcoe who said it. He ran over to his men and roughly grabbed the one Ranger by the collar of his uniform.

"They have Maclnnis's flask!” the man tried to explain.

Molly could see the anger in Simcoe’s eyes. “I should never have allowed Akinbode to leave for New York. You idiots cannot keep yourselves in line.” He hissed.

Molly noticed that Anna now stood beside her. She looked at her briefly before turning her attention back to what was happening outside.

Word must have traveled fast because a few moments later, Major Hewlett came running into town with more of his troops.

“Captain Simcoe!” Hewlett bellowed. “Order your men to stand down their arms.”

“After you, sir.” Simcoe challenged. His voice was calm once again.

The two leaders glared at each other. Just like their men, they seemed to be at a stalemate. Finally, Simcoe stepped forward.

“Allowing two British forces to bloody each other wouldn't be good for either of us, now would it?” he warned.

“Blood has already been spilled.” Hewlett replied. “If you know what's good for you, you'll leave this town.”

“You're in luck. Major Andre has called us to New Jersey on an assignment of actual importance. But per his orders, I shall return here when that's done.”

Simcoe didn’t allow Hewlett to respond. He turned on his heels and stalked away.

* * *

Anna and Molly looked at the damaged. The soldiers had quickly dispersed from the tavern. They didn’t bother finishing their drinks. What enjoyment they had had was over. The two women weren’t quite sure what to do with the window. Although they didn’t discuss what had happened with the flasks, Molly could tell that Anna didn’t expect something like this to happen.

“Should we try to board it up?” Anna asked.

Molly shrugged, “Should one of us go tell DeJong? Or do you suppose he already knows?”

They continued offering solutions instead of actually doing anything for several more minutes.

“Ms. Strong!”

Molly looked up. Simcoe was walking towards them.

“A word?” he asked.

Molly shrugged and stepped over the damaged window and walked over to where Simcoe was stood.

“Aye?” she asked.

“You wouldn’t happen to know the whereabouts of Lieutenants MacInnis and Tanner?” he asked.

He wasn’t accusing her of anything. It was simply a question.

“I saw them last night.” Molly admitted. “I was talking to MacInnis, but then Tanner came over and pulled him away for some assignment.”

Simcoe swore under his breath.

“What is it?” Molly inquired.

She felt weird. She had always been so careful with how she spoke to Simcoe before. But now, she didn’t care. She was no longer afraid of him, but she didn’t know why.

“Do you trust Major Hewlett?” he blurted.

She didn’t even hesitate, “Aye.”

“Why?”

“I suppose because he doesn’t do things like corner me alone in rooms and send his soldiers to follow me.”

Simcoe pondered her words for a second. He wasn’t angered by anything she said. If Molly didn’t know better, she’d say it was almost like he appreciated her honesty.

“Are you alright?” he asked again.

“No.”

A beat.

“Are you really going to York City?” she asked.

He nodded, “Yes.”

She thought about that for a moment.

“When do you leave?”

“A few days.”

She stood there quietly, digesting that information. While she was relieved he was leaving, she knew he’d probably find an ample excuse to come back. Perhaps, though, he would be away for much longer than even he anticipated?

He kept shifting on his feet; he had more to say. She decided it would be for the best if she remained standing there and she allowed herself to be spoken _at_ , rather than _with_. If anything, if she appeased him, maybe he would leave her be. Maybe if they parted on good terms, then he would be less likely to return and lash out at all her friends. Finally, he spoke up.

“Are you alright?” he repeated. After noticing her confused expression, he added “I mean, were you left unharmed during the quarrel at the tavern?”

“Aye, I’m fine. Just a little annoyed.”

“I expect.”

A beat.

“Judge Woodhull said your brother built this tavern… with his own two hands.”

 _What is the point of this?  
_She turned her head, to look out towards the Sound, feeling very bored with the mundaneness of this conversation.

“Aye. He did.”

A beat.

“Why did you ask me about MacInnis?” she decided to take control of the conversation once more. “What’s become of him?”

“When my men went to collect them, Lieutenants MacInnis and Tanner seem to have vanished into the night.” He narrowed his eyes, “You’re sure MacInnis didn’t mention anything last night?”

“Mention what?”

“Anything out of the ordinary.”

_Well, if you consider begging for his life out of the ordinary…_

“No, he didn’t say anything to me.” She lied. “I briefly accompanied him during his rounds. In fact, we had hardly exchanged a word when Lieutenant Tanner came and called him away.”

Simcoe was the one to turn away now. He remained silent, but she could tell he wanted to curse aloud.

“Do you think he’s in trouble?” she asked.

It was weird, talking about Alex like this. In an unfazed tone; behaving as if nothing was the matter. When in fact, she knew very well his corpse was probably at the bottom of the Sound or buried in some unmarked grave on the coast of Connecticut.

“I’m not at the liberty to say.” Simcoe said tensely.

Another brief beat of silence passed, and Molly was the one to shift on her feet now. She averted her gaze, looking back towards the tavern. She needed to get back. To help Anna assess the damage.

“May I write to you?”

She blinked and whipped her head around to look up at Captain Simcoe. She met his gaze. He was staring at her now.

“Pardon me?” she asked, still uncertain if she had heard correctly.

“Of course, if you see it as being out of line, I will humbly withdraw my offer.”

She quietly scoffed in disbelief.

“ _You_ want to write to _me_?”

He shrugged as if there was nothing wrong with the suggestion. Molly looked away from him once more. She was chewing on the inside of her cheek now.

“Why?” she asked.

“If my missing men turn up, I figure you’d be the first to know.”

She was looking back up at him. He continued.

“Do not feign ignorance. It doesn’t suit you… MacInnis was fond of you. I knew it when I assigned him to look after you. Wherever he may be, if he’s alive, he’ll surely come back for you. I know that for certain.”

Her palms were sweating now, and she crossed her arms over her chest to hide the fact that she was trembling. She was beginning to feel nauseous again, as the guilt swept over her.

“It’s a…” she stammered. But then she shook the feeling. _No, she thought, don’t be stupid. If he wants to write to me, then that means he does honor our alliance. Perhaps he’ll slipup in one of the letters? Perhaps reveal information I can pass along to Caleb or Ben._

She continued, “No, that’s a fine idea. Aye, feel free to send me post.”

They stood there for a moment in silence. Molly didn’t have anything else to say, so she didn’t say anymore. Simcoe sensed this, and the two of them wordlessly parted ways.

* * *

Anna ended up going to tell DeJong about what happened at the tavern. He traveled back with her to assess the damage himself. He was initially angry. But when he heard that the damage was because of the Rangers, he quickly changed his mind. No one in town quite trusted Simcoe since what happened a year ago. However, his presence still intimidated most of the townspeople.

The three of them were inside the tavern. DeJong was thinking out loud, and he had asked Anna to transcribe what he was saying. He was trying to formulate a plan for whether or not he was going to have the tavern closed ruing the reconstruction. DeJong’s only interest was earning a profit.

Molly was sat at a nearby table. She really didn’t have anything to do, so she began to zone out. She became lost in her thoughts. She really couldn’t comprehend what she was thinking. It was like her mind was all muddled. She could honestly still go for a nap; but she wasn’t tired. Even with her jumbled thoughts, one thing kept coming back into her mind: her conversation with Simcoe.

* * *

It was nearly evening, and Molly and Anna were walking to Whitehall. They hadn’t spoken to each other since leaving the tavern. There was no reason for Molly to accompany Anna other than the fact she wanted to. Anna had wanted to take a carriage, but Molly persuaded her otherwise.

“How are you doing?” Anna finally asked.

Molly shrugged, “Fine, I suppose.”

They walked for a few more moments.

“I don’t know why you’re so shook up what happened last night.”

“Annie, you killed a man as well.”

“Yes, a man who intended to rape me!”

Molly remembered the way Tanner had roughly grabbed Anna and forced her to kiss him.

“You still killed him though. Do you feel no regret at all?” Molly inquired.

“I don’t.” Anna admitted. “He’s our enemy, Moll, they all are.”

Molly thought about that for a moment. There was some truth to that, but she didn’t agree that it was as simple as that either.

“And what? You feel sorry for killing MacInnis? Molly, the man tried to kill _us_?”

“I know you were never acquainted, but Alex was always kind to me. He was my friend.” Her voice broke, “I liked him.”

Anna shook her head in disbelief.

“What?” Molly snapped, “And do you not feel the same way for Edmund?”

Anna didn’t say anything.

She continued, “If that had been him last night, you would not have hesitated to kill him?”

Anna looked at her sister-in-law briefly. Then she turned to look at the path in front of them. Molly knew then that she had made the right decision not to tell Anna about Simcoe’s offer of corresponding with her. If Anna was this critical of Molly’s reaction to Alex’s death, she couldn’t imagine how critical Anna would be to her strengthening her ties with Simcoe.

They had walked for several minutes in silence before Anna added,

“I don’t understand you. What happened today at the tavern, was that not a sufficient excuse to flee to Whitehall?”

Molly smirked, “What’s wrong Annie, anxious for me to give up my life as a tavern wench?”

“We’re not wenches!” Anna exclaimed.

Molly disagreed, but she said nothing. She always liked teasing her sister-in-law on the subject.

A wench simply referred to a young woman, but if a single woman worked in a tavern, there was always the stigma that she could be a prostitute. Although that wasn’t the case with Molly and Anna, Molly did feel dirty in a way. For the last year, she felt as if she’d been prostituting herself by befriending and appeasing men such as Captain Simcoe to get information.

“Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself” Molly added, “Besides, doesn’t it make more sense if I stay in town and you stay in Whitehall? If we’re both at Whitehall, what’s the point of it all? Abe doesn’t need two more spies to look after.”

Anna hesitated for a moment before responding.

“True.”

They said no more on the subject as they continued in the direction of Judge Woodhull’s estate.

* * *

_This is a bad idea._ Molly had been telling herself that for the last half hour, yet there she was, standing in the place where she had killed MacInnis less than twenty-four hours ago.

After parting ways with Anna at Whitehall, Molly had denied a carriage ride from the redcoats patrolling the grounds of Whitehall. Even though the sun had set, she intended to walk back into town by herself. But as she walked, hearing just the sound of her boots on the dirt road, she kept thinking back to the previous night. She didn’t exactly decide, she more found herself walking in the direction of the woods. And she had allowed herself to be led here.

Whatever bloodied imprint left behind by Tanner and MacInnis, it had already faded into the landscape. Nature had hidden her act, and she knew she should be grateful. Yet, she wasn’t. She stood there unmoving, imprisoned in her own mind as she kept reliving the same scenario over and over again.

_Surely, there must’ve been something I could’ve done differently? Alex didn’t need to die._

But the more she went over all the variables, the less convinced she was. She decided that there was nothing _she_ could’ve done. If anything, Anna and Abe were the ones who had caused all this. If they hadn’t have met in the root cellar. If they had just waited, maybe things would’ve gone differently.

So, Molly finally turned her eyes away from MacInnis’ final resting spot. In defeat, she made the trek back into town.

* * *

Work was strange for the next several days. DeJong had wasted no time hiring a local carpenter to come repair the damage inflicted by the redcoats and Rangers. So, while the soldiers were spread around the tavern, drinking from their mugs, the sound of sawing and hammering accompanied their noisy conversation.

“Oi! Another round over here.”

Molly wiped her brow with her forearm and turned to retrieve a fresh pitcher before going over to the group of Rangers that had called her. As she refilled their mugs, she was surprised when the men turned to speak to her.

“Hey, you can tell us,” one man grinned, “what’s become of MacInnis?”

“Aye, we all knows you was his lass.”

She looked between the men nervously. They tones were friendly enough, but she knew didn’t trust them.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I haven’t seen him since his disappearance.”

One of the men roared with laughter. She eyed him warily, uncertain what to make of it.

“How stupid do you thinks we is? We know MacInnis wouldn’t have deserted without taking his lass. That’s you. So, we know he’s still in town.”

Molly gasped when the man reached out and snatched her wrist. He pulled her closer to him and lowered his voice so that only she could hear.

“Where are you hiding him?” he growled.

“Unhand me.”

She was trying to match his tone; trying to sound firm; but the Ranger just smirked. He was still grasping her wrist, and he could feel her trembling.

“I suppose we shouldn’t blame poor ol’ MacInnis.” Another one of the men chimed in. “After all, she must be some roll if MacInnis would desert the Queen’s Rangers for her.”

All the men at the table erupted into laughter.

Molly blushed so hard it felt like her cheeks were on fire. A roll; as in intercourse. These Rangers were implying she was a prostitute and that the only reason she and MacInnis had formed a friendship was because he was paying to sleep with her.

Molly tried to yank her wrist free, but the Ranger’s grip only tightened, and she whimpered in discomfort.

“Let go of me.”

She didn’t know why, but she was still keeping her voice down. Perhaps because she didn’t want to cause a scene. The last thing she wanted was for all this attention to be on her. She hadn’t even considered something like this happening if MacInnis disappeared.

“Is that true?” the man asked mockingly, “Tell me, how much does a tavern wench like you charge? Or perhaps your friend. The _Mrs_. Strong, how much does she charge.”

Before any of them could say more, a familiar voice was heard from across the room.

“What is the meaning of this?”

They all turned and watched as Captain Simcoe approached the table. The Ranger quickly released Molly and returned to his ale. The other Rangers followed suit.

“The meaning of what?” the man asked.

Molly had straightened up once again. Even though her pitcher was nearly empty, she was holding it with both hands. Simcoe was beside her now, and she was trying to avoid eye contact with everyone. Simcoe narrowed his eyes at his men before turned to look at Molly.

“Ms. Strong, are my men bothering you?”

She still refused to make eye contact.

“No, not at all.” She lied. “They were just telling me a joke.”

The last thing she wanted was for Simcoe’s Rangers to hold more animosity towards her. Simcoe feigned a smile and then turned back to his men.

“Is that true?” he asked.

The Ranger who had grabbed her wrist chuckled.

“Aye, sir. Just a joke we were telling her… I don’t think she got it though.”

Another one of the men chuckled as well, and Simcoe made a gesture that made it seem he was going to turn away and leave it at that. But then he turned back and punched his Ranger in the nose. The man tumbled out of his chair, cursing as he tried to compose himself on the floor, as blood poured from his nose.

Molly flinched, hugging the pitcher tighter to her chest now. She tried to step away, but she jumped when she felt a hand on her back, keeping her where she was. The hand belonged to Simcoe.

The entire tavern had gone quiet. All eyes were now on them.

Simcoe turned to face the rest of the tavern.

“That goes for _all_ men under my command. Although most of us are leaving soon, it is not your place to _blatantly_ insult the employees of this tavern. Is that understood?”

His Rangers parroted that they understood, and it was left at that. The conversation in the tavern commenced once more. Simcoe indifferently began to walk towards the exit. Molly stood there for a second still trying to recover from the shock of what had just transpired. But then she regained her composure and hurried after him.

She was trying to catch up to him, but she only found herself struggling to keep up with his pace. He was a full head taller than her and his legs were far longer than hers. Finally, she huffed in annoyance, and called out his name.

“John!”

He halted his pace immediately. They hadn’t used each other’s’ Christian names since before Simcoe left to rescue Hewlett. And finally she was stood beside him, slightly out of breath. She was still clutching the pitcher to her chest.

“W-Why did you do that?” she asked.

His face remained expressionless.

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“What you just did. Why did you come to my defense?”

“Madam, I merely saw a woman in distress. As a soldier, isn’t it my duty to defend those who cannot defend themselves?”

He turned, intending for their conversation to end with that. As he walked away, Molly called after him.

“But you don’t like me.”

He turned back and said over his shoulder, “You’re mistaken, Ms. Strong. _You_ are the one who does not like me.”

She was left standing there, watching him head off in the direction of the church.

* * *

That evening, when they were closing up for the night. Anna slipped Molly a note. The note read: _Tomorrow morning. Root cellar._

The next morning, Molly planned to make her excuses to get to the root cellar. However, that proved to be much more difficult that she anticipated.

It was the morning Simcoe and his Rangers were set to head to York City. A handful of his Rangers were to stay behind in order to maintain a presence in Setauket. Molly was surprised to find that none of the men that had verbally assaulted her the previous day were being allowed to stay behind.

Although the tavern was closed until midmorning, Molly found herself awoken to the sounds of the men exiting their rooms. She was stood in the doorframe to the tavern now, watching the men as they finished packing the rest of their horses.She was still in her nightclothes, hugging her cloak to her form.

When the men had finally readied their horses, Simcoe approached the tavern again. He was pulling his gloves onto his hands as he spoke.

“As always, thank you Ms. Strong for the hospitality.”

She raised an eyebrow, “You should be thanking Mr. DeJong. It’s not my brother’s tavern anymore.”

He feigned a smirked, but it was so subtle that Molly suddenly couldn’t tell if it was feigned.

“We both know that’s not true. When I stayed at Strong Manor, that house proved to be as much yours as any man’s. Same goes for this tavern. You’re the one who lives here, not DeJong… Good day, Ms. Strong.”

She wasn’t sure what compelled her, but when he began to walk away, she found herself saying,

“Don’t forget to write… I look forward to hearing from you.”

He didn’t acknowledge her comment; he just continued to his horse, and then he rode with his men out of town.

* * *

When Molly finally arrived at the root cellar, Anna and Abe were already there.

“Sorry I’m late.” She said, but as she looked between her friends, she noticed they were tense. “What’s wrong?”

Abe eyed her for a second. They hadn’t talked properly since Molly moved into Whitehall.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

Molly rolled her eyes. She wished everyone would stop asking her that.

“Of course. Now please, why did you call us all down here.”

Abe rubbed his eyes and waved her off.

“Alright, alright.” He began to explain, “Hewlett had asked me to compile a history of my spying in York City. He still believes I made contact with the Sons of Liberty, and he wants to send a report of their activities to Major John Andre, the _head of intelligence_ for the King. But as well all know, I never did any of those things. Everything I have told Hewlett has been lies, and if he sends that report, I’ll be found out. _We’ll_ be found out.”

“So, what do we do?” Molly asked.

“We silence Hewlett.”

Molly laughed aloud. It seemed to absurd. But when Abe and Anna remained silent, she knew this was serious. They stood there for a moment to digest that information.

“Abe.” Molly finally said, but her voice was very quiet now. “No, we can’t.”

“I don't understand.” Anna added.

“Which part?”

“Silence Hewlett. Do you mean... you mean _kill_ Hewlett?”

Abe slowly began pacing.

“I know, it seems impossible, all right, but it's not.” He said.

Anna scoffed.

“W-why is this the only option?” Molly was shaking her head in disbelief.

Abe continued, “Anna, all right, he still fancies you. So, you take him out tonight, you take him down by the water, I can get the drop on him.”

“No.”

“No, no, no, it'll work. It's going to work. We just make it look like Simcoe ordered it just like we did those other two Rangers.

“No, Abe.” Anna said firmly. “No, I won't do this. I won't take part in this.”

“All right, why, why?”

“Because it's murder and it's done in cold blood.”

Abe laughed aloud.

“If I recall, you and Molly had no problem with murder last week.”

Molly punched him in the arm before grabbing him roughly.

“You shut your mouth.”

He shoved her away. “What?” he asked. “So, then you... you're not hearing me, all right? Hewlett plans to pass on my name to Andre.” Abe turned to Anna, “You remember him from New York?”

Molly knitted her eyebrows in confusion. _What? When did that happen?_

Abe continued, “Listen, when he hears the name Woodhull again, when he hears Setauket, where he already sent Robert Rogers to look into the ambush that we planned…”

“Ambush?” Molly blurted. “What are you talking about?”

Anna groaned loudly.

“I told you we should’ve told her!” Anna said.

“Tell me what?” Molly demanded.

“Do you remember when Simcoe went to Connecticut and he was missing in action?”

“Hmm, faintly.”

That was over a year ago, Molly’s memory was a little hazy.

“That was us.” Anna explained. “Abe had just been recruited by Caleb. That was the first information we passed along.”

Abe chuckled darkly, “Yes, and that’s where all of our troubles started. Simcoe was supposed to die in that ambush.”

“What do you mean?” Molly asked.

“Benjamin led that ambush.” Abe said. “He promised to kill Simcoe, but he waited to question him. It’s his fault Simcoe escaped.”

Molly was taken aback. Everything made so much sense now. _That_ was why Simcoe had inquired about the Tallmadges and Brewsters when he returned to Setauket. _That_ was why he had singled out Molly. It was not chance. Ben made a mistake, and he never told her about it. No one had.

Abe and Anna continued the conversation regarding Hewlett.

“There has to be another way.” Anna insisted. “Edmund is... he's not...”

“Wait, Edmund?”

“Major Hewlett.”

“Yes, Major Hewlett of His Majesty's Royal Army. Have you forgotten who our enemy is? Have you forgotten we're at war?”

“You've changed. Ever since you got out of prison, you're different.”

“Yeah, prison will do that to you. Are you going to help me get this done... or not?

Anna didn’t say anything.

“All right. You'd better run along before he gets suspicious.”

Anna huffed in frustration and stormed out of the root cellar.

Molly opened her mouth to say more, but she was speechless. She hadn’t expected any of this from the two of them, but from the way they were speaking, it seemed they had failed to keep her informed on much more than just Abe’s time pretending to be a double agent.

“Why didn’t you tell me about any of this?” Molly decided to ask.

“The less people who knew, the better.”

She looked down at her feet, still shaking her head.

“That’s a bad excuse for not telling me.”

Abe rolled his eyes, and the gesture infuriated Molly. She was the one glaring at him now.

She said, “Whatever you decide to do, leave me out of it. Because, unlike you, my standing in this town is still intact. Unlike you, I have always proven myself to be loyal to the Crown… And now, whatever it is you’re doing, you’re going to get yourself killed… Just remember that. This is _your_ doing, not mine.”

Molly glared at Abe one last time. Then she turned and followed her sister-in-law outside.

“Anna.”

Anna was pacing, running a hand through her hair.

“Annie, obviously we aren’t going to let him kill Edmund.”

“Then what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know.” Molly admitted.

She honestly couldn’t think of a way to get around this without involving Hewlett himself. But that was out of the question. Anna suddenly stopped pacing and began to walk in the direction of Whitehall.

“Where are we going?” Molly asked, following her.

“I have an idea.”

* * *

Molly sat on Anna’s bed in Whitehall, tapping her foot anxiously. She was waiting for Anna to return. Anna had a plan, and although Molly wasn’t entirely convinced it would work, it was their only option.

The door handle turned, and Molly jumped to her feet and turned to see Anna and Mary entering the bedroom. Mary eyed her friend for a second.

“What are you doing here? Anna didn’t mention you were visiting.” Anna kept herself pressed against the door, blocking it in case Mary tried to bolt. Mary noticed this. “What’s this all about?”

“We need your help.” Molly said.

“Help with what?”

"It’s Abraham.” Anna continued. “He intends to kill Major Hewlett.”

Mary immediately turned her attention towards Molly. Molly was surprised to hear her friend say, “You’ve been helping them?”

Molly shot her sister-in-law a look. She didn’t know _that_. She was suddenly impressed with her friend. Mary had obviously figured out that Anna was involved some time ago. Molly felt herself blush; she was embarrassed, because all this time, she had been lying to Mary, and now Mary knew it.

“She knows about you?” she asked Anna.

Anna nodded.

“You said I could trust you.” Mary snapped at Molly.

“And you can! I have never done anything to endanger you or Abraham.”

Mary scoffed, “Of course. All you did was involve Abraham with the rebels. No danger there.”

“W-What? No! I did not involve Abe! He went out and he did all this himself, and then he dragged me into it.”

Mary rolled her eyes.

“Mary, don’t look at me like that! You’re no more innocent than the rest of us. I know it was your idea to burn down the farmhouse.” Molly snapped.

Mary looked surprised. She didn’t know Abe had told them all this.

“Please, Mary,” Anna said, “we need your help?”

“What is it you want me to do?” she asked.

They began to plot.

* * *

That evening, Molly returned to Whitehall. Meanwhile, Abe reluctantly sat with Hewlett in the parlor and they compiled his false reports for Major Andre. Mary had gone downstairs to get Abe. He had no idea that Molly and Anna were waiting upstairs in his bedroom, waiting to verbally ambush him.

After a few minutes, Mary returned with Abe following at her heels. He glared at Anna and Molly when he noticed their presence.

“Anna came to me and told me what you intend on doing.” Mary said as she closed the door behind them.

“She already knows we’re involved with the ring.” Anna added.

Mary continued, “We can't let you do this, Abe.”

Abe scoffed, “No?”

“You do not have to kill Hewlett.”

“Oh, I don't? I don't have to?”

Abe and Mary were toe-to-toe.

“No.” Mary replied.

“No. All right, then why don't you tell me what I have to do?” His tone was filled with sarcasm.

“You only have to kill his courier.”

Molly, Anna, and Abe all twisted their faces in confusion.

“What?” Abe and Molly said together.

Molly had no idea what was happening. This hadn’t been the plan they discussed.

“Think about it.” Mary said. “Hewlett will likely send one courier as he can't afford to spare a whole detachment.”

“Eastin, yeah.” Abe replied, saying the likely courier’s name.

Molly and Anna exchanged a series of glances, but they were being ignored by the Woodhulls, who were busy now plotting amongst themselves.

“You get ahead of him on the road,” Mary said, “you ambush him, make it look like Simcoe did it, revenge for the men that he lost.

“What are you talking about?” Molly blurted, “We can’t just go around killing people!”

“Mary, I came to you for help.” Anna tried to cut in. Her voice was strained, and Molly could tell she was close to tears.

“You did the right thing.” Mary addressed her calmly.

Abe was thinking over the plan. “Wait, what about Andre? Hewlett will just send another courier.”

“Please don't do this.” Anna was crying now.

“Why not?” Abe hissed. “Eastin's a rat. He's the one that tried to kill my father under Simcoe's orders. There is no one more deserving than Eastin… What changed for you? What happened to ‘ _Raid the armory, storm the church, shoot Hewlett’_? Did you find some hidden love for the king? Or is it just for Hewlett?”

Anna silently stormed out of the room.

Mary was still lost in thought. Molly wanted to say she was surprised by all this, but she wasn’t. She had not forgotten what Abe had told her a long ago.

_It was Mary’s idea to burn the farmhouse._

“You forge a response.” Mary finally said.

Abe turned back to his wife, “What?”

“The story will be that Eastin was ambushed returning from New York. You forge a letter from Andre thanking him for his efforts, but making it very clear that he's not interested in pursuing the matter any further. Hewlett won't dare to challenge him.”

“No.” he shook his head. “Listen to me. Hewlett will be expecting a message that is encrypted.”

“What do you mean?”

Molly stepped forward and gave her two friends a shove.

“Have you two lost your minds?” she turned to Mary, “You can’t be serious.”

Mary waved her off.

“Mary!” No response. “Mary!”

They were ignoring her now.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked Mary, “Huh? Why did you change sides?”

“I haven't changed sides, Abe. I don't believe in your _cause_ , I believe in _you_. And I'm done trying to change you. Though I do think I can help you be a little less sloppy.”

Molly continued listened in disbelief.

Mary kept talking, “Now, your father keeps a pistol in the house. I know where it is. It's going to be all right, I promise.”

Finally, Molly pushed past her friends. She had her hand on the doorknob.

“You’re going to get us all killed!”


	2. 3x01

**February 1778**

_Ms. Strong,_

_I pray you have not fallen ill since last we spoke. Should you receive any news regarding our mutual party, do not hesitate to write. I recommend seeking out one of my remaining men with any of your prepared communications. They will ensure that your messages find their way to me. I am not at the liberty to reveal my station, nor do I intend to put into writing any sensitive information that may be used to aid the enemy. I trust you will be conscious enough to do the same._

_Yours with esteem, Captain John Graves Simcoe_

Molly had been mulling over those words all afternoon. She was no fool, and it was no secret that Simcoe had been continuously flirtatious with her over the past months. Originally, she thought he was doing so to mock her. But now she remembered his comment: _“You’re mistaken, Ms. Strong. You are the one who does not like me.”_ Naturally, she assumed these correspondences would be used as a way for Simcoe to show her his affection. But it seemed she was wrong. This note was strictly regarding MacInnis and Tanner’s disappearance. And the more she thought about his words, the less she was sure of herself.

Even now, as she laid in bed, the only thing on her mind was Simcoe, and that fact made her stomach churn. She huffed in frustrated and sat up in the darkness, running a hand through her hair.

 _I’m being stupid. This is silly._ She scolded herself. She sat there for a moment, and then the familiar thoughts she had had all day came back to her. _Does he expect a reply? What do I even write? There’s nothing to say._

She wished more than ever that she wasn’t alone. Since Anna moved to Whitehall and since Cicero had departed to be reunited with his mother, Molly had little company at the tavern. She hadn’t even realized how often she spoke with Anna or Cicero until they were both gone.

She knew she needed to talk to someone about what to do about the dreaded Captain Simcoe, but she couldn’t. She hadn’t visited Whitehall in nearly two weeks. Hadn’t spoken with Abe or Mary since they planned to ambush Corporal Eastin. Besides, even if that scheme was not already in the works, she knew she couldn’t tell Anna or Abe about any of this. Anna was judgmental enough about her friendship with MacInnis, and Abe would be furious if he knew Molly was encouraging Simcoe’s affections. She could do without the argument.

So, that left her with only one option: _Ben_. She hadn’t heard from him or written to him since before Christmas. She hadn’t written out of spite, but now all that spite seemed so foolish. She had allowed Anna’s words to remain in her mind: _“I can guarantee that your precious Benjamin has probably slept with every whore who follows the Continental Army”._

She laid back down. She decided then and there that she would write to him. Ask for his opinion and advice on the matter. She felt a faint smile tugging on her lips the more she thought about him. She missed him. The longer she laid there, another thought came to her. This was the one of the first times in over a year where she had a room all to herself. She was alone. She wasted no time slipping a hand under her nightshirt, and she thought about Ben until she was satisfied; then she let sleep take her.

* * *

The next morning, she rose early, before the sun had even risen, and made the trek to the remains of Abe’s farmhouse. If she was going to write to Ben, she needed invisible ink. She had cast her supply into the fire weeks earlier. Anna had a vile, but she feared that visiting Whitehall for that sole purpose may raise suspicion. That gave her only one option: Abe’s root cellar. Surely, he stored his invisible ink there.

When she arrived at the farmhouse, she hurried into the cellar and closed the doors behind her. She was cast into darkness and swore aloud. She had forgotten to bring a lantern or a candle. She placed her hands along the walls and stumbled down the stairs, swearing as she descended. Once she was at in the cellar, she reached out, feeling for the desk against one of the walls. She found it quickly enough and began fumbling around, looking for the tinderbox and a candle. She had the tinderbox in her hand, but suddenly a candle flickered alive beside her. Her breath caught in her throat and she turned her head to look at her companion.

“I wouldn’t be doing that if I were you.” The man said.

Her eyebrows furrowed together as she looked at the man standing beside her. She recognized him. Although she had never met him before, she remembered him from when he visited Setauket. It was Robert Rogers, the former leader of the Queen’s Rangers. In that moment, she remembered what Ben had said in his letter: _I lost my entire patrol to Robert Rogers. My men were butchered in that ambush._

She hadn’t the faintest idea what he was doing here.

“W-Who are you? Why are you down here?” she asked.

She was surprised that her voice sounded to steady. But she honestly didn’t know whether or not she should be afraid. After all, it wasn’t like she could be arrested for going to Abe’s root cellar. She knew Abe would vouch for her.

“It seems we have a mutual acquaintance.” The older man shrugged. He had a thick Scottish accent.

“Who? Abraham?”

He nodded. None of this made sense to Molly, but it also wasn’t the first time she had been excluded from a plan; and it wasn’t the first time information was withheld from her.

“I don’t understand though. Why are you hiding in his root cellar?”

“I have the same question for you.”

Molly didn’t say anything, and they looked at each other for a moment, in a stalemate. Finally, Rogers broke their silence and chuckled darkly.

“Don’t act so coy, lassie. I saw the way you butchered my boy MacInnis.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“Do you know how long that boy served under me?” Rogers continued, “I’ll admit, it wasn’t right the way he went. Watching him be killed by a tavern wench. You can't kill your secrets, because they have a nasty habit of coming back from the dead.”

He had been there. Rogers had been in the woods that night, and he had seen everything. And that was why Abe was keeping him a secret. They were being blackmailed. Although she was trembling with fear, only one thing was on her mind. She needed to escape this root cellar.

She blew out the candle that Rogers held in his hand. When they were cast back into darkness, she moved to rush to the stairs again. But she yelped out as a hand grasped her wrist and pulled her back. She struggled against him. Throwing punches and kicks that ended up not hitting anything because she couldn’t see. And then she was falling. She was on her back now, on the floor, her chest heaving as she kept trying to fight against Rogers. But he was above her. Pinning her to the ground.

Finally, she said aloud, “What’s the purpose of this? If you’re going to blackmail us, then so be it. But if your plan is to kill me, you better get on with it now.”

Rogers scoffed, “Please, lassie, I could do without the theatrics. Now are you done flailing about?”

She huffed in annoyance, but she said she was done. She was surprised when he released her. She heard him by the desk again and then another candle was lit, and it faintly illuminated the room. Rogers brought the candle back to where she was and sat beside her.

She propped herself up on her elbows and eyed him suspiciously. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t expect you to. I’ve seen the way the lot of you are organized here. Your little band of spies is a rightful mess.”

She didn’t know how to respond.

He continued. “Don’t you worry that pretty head of yours. It’s not you or your precious band of freedom fighters I’m after. I’m only using your friend as bait.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Bait?”

“I'm gonna use your friend, the failed cabbage farmer, like a squishy worm to get close to my old friend John André.”

She opened her mouth to respond but stopped herself. She wasn’t sure what to make of any of this. It was all too weird.

“You’re after Major Andre as well?” she finally said.

“Were you not listening to a word I just said?”

“No. I was. But… it seems very convenient that we just _happen_ to have a common enemy.”

“The longer a war goes on, the easier it becomes for any of us to become turncoats.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“So what? You’re working for Washington now?”

Rogers laughed aloud, acting like the idea was absurd.

“I’m on no one’s side. I’m simply seeking the downfall of ol’ John Andre.”

She was the one scoffing now.

“You still haven’t told me anything though. How do _we_ fit into your plan? All you know is that we killed those two Rangers. So what?”

Rogers smirked, and Molly hated how smug he seemed.

“Because you’re the one thing Andre wants more than anything?”

Molly silently gulped. She was still looking over Rogers; still trying to size him up. But this man was different than the redcoats she had been interacting with for so long.

“It seems like a lot of work for revenge.” She finally said.

“It ain't revenge I'm after, it's justice.”

“And what? My time as a spy, a _coward_ , as you say. Am I not seeking justice as well?”

He chuckled again, and this time when he did so, she was very afraid.

“My plans needn’t concern you, lassie.”

“Clearly they do.” She snapped.

“No, because you’re not the one who mucked up the cabbage farmer’s plans. He went and did that himself.”

_What plan? The one involving killing Corporal Eastin?_

“What? You mean the redcoat he was set to kill?”

“Aye. If I hadn’t have been there, there would’ve been no one to save your friend’s skin.”

“Well, clearly you have no intention of saving any of us. What, if we’re just bait to you.”

Rogers was the one eyeing her now. Although she was afraid, she still didn’t know what to make of the man. Everything he said was contradictory. He wanted revenge on Andre, but he also had the only thing Andre apparently wanted: the ring. He could easily turn them in and receive accolades from the British. Yet, he refused to do that. She couldn’t figure it out. How would using their ring help him with his revenge. Unless he gave them information, it didn’t make any sense.

“Let’s not go into detail. After all, it’s just the cabbage farmer I’m using as bait. I have no grouse with you and the other lass. As disorganized as you lot are, you can cause more damage to Andre if you’re alive rather than dead.” He shrugged, “Now get whatever it is you came here for. And run along.”

Molly warily pushed herself to her feet.

“The way I see it, as long as you don’t breathe a word of this, I won’t either. And if you do…” he chuckled, “well then, I may just have to avenge my Rangers’ deaths.”

She located the invisible ink quickly enough and then climbed the stairs and made her way out of the cellar. She squinted in the sunlight. The sun had begun to rise.

She had a troubled walk back to the tavern. Although Rogers had threatened her, and although his motivations were disarrayed, he did seem to be on their side. If he had seen what happened in the woods that night, then he had every opportunity to turn them in. Yet, he hadn’t. And he said he wouldn’t. Molly knew she couldn’t tell Ben about any of this; he would be furious. Whatever happened, she just hoped Robert Rogers would prove himself to be an ally worth keeping. She couldn’t help thinking back to his words: _“The longer a war goes on, the easier it becomes for any of us to become turncoats”._ Was that a premonition… or a warning?


	3. 3x02

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance bc this chapter is full of exposition and hella dialogue heavy. On the bright side, lots of Abe/Molly content :)

It had been a week since Molly’s encounter with Robert Rogers, and it had been a week since she had procured the invisible ink from Abe’s root cellar. So, why hadn’t she written to Ben yet?

The truth was, just like with Simcoe’s letter, she didn’t know what to write. If she wrote to him about Simcoe, she knew what his reaction would be. He’d tell Caleb, and soon both of them would be encouraging her to flee Setauket and join them at the Continental Army encampment.

Then there was the thing with Robert Rogers. She couldn’t tell Ben about him. She knew him. She knew Ben would be furious if he learned about Rogers and Abe’s alliance. And if she told him about the alliance, she would also have to tell him about the plan to kill Eastin.

The more she thought about all the factors, suddenly, she understood. She understood why Abe and Anna had excluded her for so long. She understood why they were hesitant to tell her because they knew what her reaction would be. Just like how she knew what Ben’s reaction would be. Or Caleb’s.

“Here.”

When they were both working one evening, Molly gave Anna the invisible ink, so she could pass it back to Abe. Anna glanced between her and the vials.

“What’s this for?”

“I borrowed it from Abe. See that he gets it back.”

Molly returned to her work. She had her own secrets now.

* * *

“Eastin is dead.”

Molly glanced up from where she was refilling the pitchers at the bar. The news had been circulating all morning. As far as she was aware, Abe had killed Eastin nearly two weeks ago. Hewlett’s men had only just discovered the body.

“Dead? How?”

“I bet you anything it’s one of those bloody Rangers.”

“Bloody bastards.”

It had been strangely quiet all morning. She was the only one working at the tavern. Anna hadn’t shown up for her morning shift. As for the tavern itself, hardly any soldiers had stopped by. _Something’s wrong_. Molly told herself. And that was why, at noon, she closed the tavern briefly and started in the direction of Whitehall.

It didn’t take long before she was nearing the remains of Abe and Mary’s farmhouse. Although he had begun to rebuild, the property still looked a mess. There was just as much new timber as there was the charred remains of the old. She didn’t think much of anything, but then she noticed that smoke was rising from the small chimney of the shack beside the farmhouse; the shack where Abe’s slaves used to live.

Molly quickly altered her direction and began nearing the shack. If Abe was here, that would save her the trouble of walking all the way to Whitehall. She had only wanted to speak with him. She knocked on the door. After a moment, the door swung open and there stood Abe. He looked disheveled, but she didn’t think much of it. After all, he was probably out here to work on rebuilding the farmhouse.

“What are you doing here?” Abe snapped.

Her friendly expression fell. _Something’s wrong_. She thought again. His eyes were shifty, and his voice was clipped; he was tense.

“I wanted to make sure that Anna got those vials back to you.” She began slowly. “Sorry for not asking to borrow them. But I knew you were busy…” _murdering Eastin_... “Also, I need to talk to you.”

“Now’s not really a good time.”

“Then when is a good time?”

“Don’t know, all I know is-”

“Papa?”

Thomas appeared beside Abe. Molly smiled as she watched the boy latch onto his father’s leg.

“Are you helping your papa rebuild the farmhouse?” she leaned down so she could speak with him. Thomas stared up at her wide-eyed.

When she went to straighten up once more, she noticed movement from behind Abe. Her smile faded. There behind Abe stood Robert Rogers.

“No need to be polite on my account.” The older man said. Abe jumped at the sound of his voice. “Invite her in. I’m sure you’ve not had a chance to fill her in yet.”

Abe began talking to Rogers in a hushed tone. Molly’s eyes kept shifting to where the older man was stood near them. He looked much less frightening in the light. But at the same time, she could still remember how terrifying he had seemed in the candlelight.

“Tell me what?” Molly asked.

Abe swore and then grabbed Thomas by the hand and pulled him out of the shack. He closed the door on Rogers and then pulled Molly away from the building. Thomas wandered away from them to play nearby. Even though they were alone, Abe was speaking in a hushed tone.

“Now, Molly, listen to me.” Abe put a hand on her shoulder. “Please, don’t fret-”

She roughly pushed his hand away and reared back, punching him in the jaw. He yelped in pain and stumbled back slightly, cradling his face with his hand.

“What the hell are you playing at?” she snapped.

“Now, listen to me–”

He tried to put a hand on her shoulder again, but she sidestepped away from him.

“No! If it’s about Robert Rogers, I already know.”

“W-What?” he stammered.

“When I came for the vials, I snuck down into the root cellar. He was down there.”

Abe swore aloud and ran a hand through his hair. He was visibly shaking.

“Does Mary know? Or Anna?” Abe sounded panicked, and Molly found herself putting a hand on his shoulder now.

“No. No one knows. And no one’s going to know.”

He let out a sigh of relief. She watched him as he tried to compose himself more. But the more she looked at him, she knew he was a nervous wreck. Whatever had happened with Eastin; whatever had prompted Robert Rogers to help Abe with the deed; it had clearly taken a toll on him.

“Good, good.” He swallowed, pausing for a moment. Then he said, “Listen, what I am doing with Rogers. It will all be over soon. Besides, we have bigger problems.”

“Oh, bigger problems than hiding a Queen’s Ranger in your root cellar?” Sarcasm from dripping from her mouth. “You know, he told me your plan failed. Said he had to save you from yourself and help you dispose of Eastin… I told you the plan was foolish.”

He waved her off.

“What happened with Eastin doesn’t matter now. Now, listen to me, Molly, has anyone come to you? Have any of Hewlett’s men been acting strange around you?”

“No stranger than usual.” She shrugged. She was still annoyed they were dropping the subject. “Why?”

“Hewlett knows.”

Her eyebrows furrowed together.

“Knows what?”

“About the ring.”

Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Molly reached out, suddenly glad that Abe was standing so close. She leaned against him. If he wasn’t there, she knew she would’ve fallen over from the shock.

“What?” she breathed. She was shaking her head. Her head was pounding, and she could feel bile rising in her throat. “Are they coming for us?” Her voice suddenly sounded very small.

“No,” Abe took her face in his hands. “Listen to me, Moll, Hewlett doesn’t know about you or Anna. He thinks I’m working alone.”

“W-Well, how does he know?” A thought came to her, “It was Rogers, wasn’t it? That bastard!”

“No, no, it wasn’t Rogers.”

“Then who else could it have been?”

Abe bit his lip and looked away for a moment. He didn’t want to tell her. Finally, he said, “It was my father.”

She swore aloud.

“Your _father_? _He_ knew as well? And for how long?” she snapped.

“That’s not important.”

She scowled and he looked away briefly. He was embarrassed.

“It wasn’t important until _now_.” He admitted.

“Right, wasn’t important until he’d gone off and betrayed you, is that it?”

She shoved him away, punching him on the arm as she did so. Her knuckles her stinging slightly from where they had come in contact with his skin. It was a familiar sting though, and she wanted nothing more than to pummel him right there. The only thing holding her back was the fact that Thomas was nearby. Although she was fuming, she also knew there was more he wasn’t telling her. So, she inhaled deeply and tried to keep her anger at bay.

“Why hasn’t Anna come to me? Why wasn’t she at the tavern this morning?” she decided to ask.

“She’s too busy trying to appease Hewlett.”

Molly rolled her eyes. _Of course she is._ It didn’t matter that Abe’s position had been compromised. Anna was still looking out for Major Edmund Hewlett; the man who would surely see all of them hanged if he knew the full truth.

“Why is Thomas here then?” she added.

“I took Thomas as leverage. Listen, Mary said she’d stay behind to act as leverage to Hewlett... So I don’t flee from town.”

She snorted, “And what? I know Hewlett. This little arrangement is not going to last for much longer. I guarantee he’s planning on coming after you as we speak.”

“He’s not.”

“Oh really? And what makes you so confident?”

“Because, if Hewlett arrests me, he’ll only indict himself as well.” His tone became more urgent when he saw Molly roll her eyes again. “Think about it! Me, a spy in Setauket, working right under his nose. Meanwhile, he was the one granting me safe passage into York City all those times. If I hang, he’ll surely be up there with me. As an accomplice.”

She was still shaking her head. When she said earlier that he was going to get them all killed, she was hoping she was just being overdramatic. But now…

“So what?” Molly shrugged. “You’re just going to hide out here? Make Thomas sleep in the shack. Have Robert Rogers as a boarder. Until… until what?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t figured out that part yet.” He admitted.

“You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“We all are.”

A beat.

“Promise me now you won’t breathe a word of this to Ben.” He added.

“If I tell Ben about _any_ of this…” She scoffed. “Well, if he knew about any of this, I’m sure he’d dissolve the ring entirely. If I was looking at this, I would see it as an utter failure.”

“No. It’s not a failure. Not yet.”

Molly looked down at the ground and mindlessly kicked at the dirt.

“Alright.” She said. “Tell me what to do. How can I help?”

He looked relieved that she had said that.

“Listen, don’t visit Whitehall anytime soon. The last thing I want is for you to visit and for Hewlett to consider that you may be involved. Don’t go unless invited.”

She nodded.

“What about Rogers? Do we need to kill him?”

A smirk tugged at Abe’s lips.

“Careful there, Strong. You’re starting to sound an awful lot like my wife.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are. I’ve not quite decided what to do about him yet. But when I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

“You better.”

They looked at each other briefly, and Molly suddenly wondered if this was what it may have been like if it had just been the two of them. If Anna hadn’t leapt from that whaleboat so long ago. Even though she and Abe didn’t always see eye-to-eye, Molly knew they could make a good team if they wanted to. Neither of them had much more to say, so Molly left not long after that. And she headed back in the direction of town.

* * *

A few days passed, and Molly hadn’t heard anymore word from Abe. Anna hadn’t shown for any of her shifts either, so Molly found herself working even more to cover for her. It was much more difficult that she would’ve liked. With Anna absent, and Cicero gone, Molly was the one left to do all the inventory, serving, and odd jobs around the tavern. She was exhausted. It was early in the afternoon, and the tavern was relatively quiet. She was refilling a few redcoats’ mugs when she overheard their conversation.

“Did you hear what Smith and Rutter are up to?”

“No, what?”

“Heard that one of those Rangers road back into town. So, they went and confronted him about finding Eastin’s body. Tried to get the son of a bitch to confess, but he claims he don’t know anything of it.”

“So what?”

“They went and gave him a good beating. Last I hear, they were dragging him up to the church. Planning on giving him a good lashing.”

The two men chuckled quietly as they began sipping at their full mugs.

 _Uh oh_. Molly thought. _I don’t like the sound of that_. The last thing she wanted was for the redcoats and Rangers to be at war amongst themselves again. She just hoped what the men had discussed turned out to be false. And even if it was true, there were only a couple Rangers who had remained in town. If they did decide to beat one of them, it was better that they do it now that the rest of the men were away. But she didn’t know how wrong that would prove to be.

* * *

Molly was outside collecting fresh water from the pump beside the tavern. It was early in the afternoon, and this was her fourth trip to the pump. She was purposely pumping water slowly, so she could get a bit of a break. She found herself turning her head when she heard a series of horses riding up near where she was. She was grateful she had not been carrying the water bucket, for if she had been, she was certain she would’ve dropped it. It was the Rangers. They had returned.

She froze when she caught sight of Captain Simcoe. He dismounted his horse and approached her. Her heart began hammering in her chest as he got nearer. His face was splattered with blood.

“Captain.” She bowed her head slightly

“Ms. Strong.”

“We didn’t know you would be returning so soon.”

She had been praying that the Rangers might be gone for several months rather than one month.

“I trust there are still rooms for board at the tavern.”

“Aye… Um, a-are you quite alright?”

He feigned a smile, but even that could not hide the scowl on his face.

“ _Quite_.” He replied. “I’m off to Whitehall.”

_Shit. To see Hewlett no doubt. What if Hewlett tells him about Abe?_

“I imagine you’ll do me the favor of entertaining my men until I return.”

_Entertain?_

“Well, I mean, I’ll serve them drinks all the same… if that’s what you mean.”

She was speaking slowly, trying not to give herself away. As long as she acted like nothing was the matter, she hoped he wouldn’t notice how tense she was as well

“Until then.”

He turned to leave, and she hurried to collect the bucket of water by her feet. It was only half-filled, but she didn’t want to be outside the tavern for a moment longer.

* * *

It was evening. The tavern was filled with Rangers; there hadn’t been any redcoats in since Simcoe’s return. Molly had made small talk with some of the men throughout the day, and they told her why Simcoe had gone to Whitehall.

The rumor Molly heard earlier that day was true. Hewlett’s men blamed the Ranger’s for Eastin’s death. When one of the Rangers returned to town, he was ambushed by some redcoats and taken to the church. They were giving his lashes, to get even for what happened to Eastin. However, as all this was happening, Simcoe and the rest of his men rode into town. Simcoe freed his man and took four of the redcoats hostage. His face had been splattered with blood because he had nearly beaten one of the redcoats to death.

That fact did nothing to ease her worries. If anything, she wished for once she had kept her mouth shut and hadn’t inquired as to what was going on.

Simcoe was going to Whitehall under flag of truce to speak to Hewlett about the dispute between the redcoats and Rangers.

Molly was behind the bar, cleaning mugs when the dreaded Captain Simcoe himself finally returned. He walked past his men and stopped in front of her at the bar. There was no longer blood on his face. Molly wordlessly poured him a drink and slid it across the bar to him. She looked calm, but, on the inside, she was a nervous wreck, because she didn’t know if Hewlett had given Abe away.

“It’s good to see you again, Ms. Strong.”

“Ditto.”

A beat.

“I take it you receive my correspondence. I never heard word from you, so I assume my two men are still missing?”

She nodded, still cleaning the mugs in front of her. She never ended up writing back because she decided it was best not too. After all, his note had been formal; not flirtatious. Besides, she didn’t know what to say.

“Aye. There was no news, so I didn’t think a response was justified. After all, I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You could never bother me.”

Her hand froze inside the mug she was scrubbing. She glanced up at him for a second, and then quickly averted her eyes. She decided to ignore the comment.

“Also,” she changed the subject, “before you inquire, I made up those rooms like you asked.”

“Thank you.”

She continued to avert her gaze. She hoped if she acted disinterested, then he would do the same and walk away. Yet he remained where he was stood.

“There is something I need to discuss with you.” He went on.

“Oh really?”

“Are you familiar with a man with the name Samuel Culper.”

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

She looked up at him, furrowing her eyebrows, “Who?”

“Culper.”

“Culper? Spelled with a ‘K’?”

“No, a ‘C’.”

She pouted, pretending to consider it for a second.

“No.” she said slowly. “I don’t think I’ve ever known someone by that name… Why?”

“I believe him to be in league with your former fiancé.”

She fumbled with the mug she was holding. She had tried her best, but she couldn’t contain her shock anymore.

She lowered her voice and leaned forward. “Why are we discussing Benjamin Tallmadge?”

“Your former fiancé is the rebels’ head of intelligence. Were you aware of that?”

“I was not.” She lied.

_Is he messing with me? Does he know the truth, but wants to scare me badly enough for me to admit to something? I wouldn’t put that past him._

“It seems this man by the name of _Culper_ is acting as a spy. Working out of Long Island. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

She scoffed, “Are you accusing me of something?”

“Not yet.”

Her expression fell. She wanted to shrink away and hide in the nearest cupboard.

“Are you asking me to keep an eye out for that name?” she asked. “Is _that_ why you’re telling me all this?”

He shrugged but refused to give her a clear answer. And that only infuriated her even more.

* * *

That night, when everyone was asleep, she managed to slip out of the tavern and sneak away to Abe’s farm. She was grateful to see that the windows of the shack were being illuminated by the hearth. She knocked on the door. After a few seconds, she was greeted by Abe, who had his pistol pointed in her face.

“My lord, Molly, what are you doing here?”

She pushed passed him and stepped into the shack. There was no sign of Robert Rogers, but Thomas was asleep in the cot at the other side of the room, so she kept her voice down. She didn’t waste time with pleasantries.

“Simcoe knows the name Culper.”

“I know.”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“Anna’s already been by to warn me.” Abe explained.

“So, what? Does Simcoe know it’s you?” She kept interrupting herself. “Where did he even hear that name? Did your father, or Hewlett…?

“No. Neither of them know I’m Culper. Simcoe must’ve heard the name when he was in York City.”

“Oh, well that’s reassuring.”

If he heard the name in York City, then that meant that other officers knew the name as well.

“Are you alright?” Abe asked next, “Is he staying at the tavern again?”

“Aye. He asked me about Ben.”

“What?” His voice was strained.

“Don’t worry though. I don’t think he knows anything. All he knows is that Ben is head of intelligence and that Culper is some man sending information to him.”

Abe scoffed and looked down at the floor for a second.

“Well, do you know who Simcoe reports to?”

“No.”

Abe smirked, “John Andre.”

“What?” she breathed. “How do you know that?”

“Rogers told me. That’s why he used to report to. That’s one of the reasons he’s here.”

Her eyebrows furrowed together. All this sneaking around… Molly never felt like she was getting the full story. There were always pieces missing that she could have to get caught up on later.

“He told me it was because _we_ were here.”

“Aye.” Abe nodded. “Us, and the Rangers. _His_ former Rangers. Who report to John Andre.”

She digested that information for a moment. It made sense. After all, why else would Rogers have a vendetta against Andre?

“What are we going to do?” Molly finally asked.

Abe smirked. He looked pleased, like that was what he was waiting for her to ask.

“I’m going to become allies with Hewlett.”

She snorted in amusement.

“Forge an alliance with Hewlett?” Her smile faded when she realized he was serious. “I know I’ve said this a lot lately, but have you _actually_ lost your mind?”

Abe shrugged, “Who hates Simcoe more than us?”

She hesitated with her answer.

“…Hewlett.”

“Exactly! Anna and I are working on it. The plan is for Hewlett to convince Simcoe that Culper is a man a few towns over. Little with Simcoe know he’s walking right into a trap. We’ll send Caleb to finish him off, and then all of us, even Hewlett, can wipe our hands of this mess.”

Molly chewed on the inside of her cheek as she thought. Hewlett did hate Simcoe. She remembered how tense the two men had been since Hewlett escaped the rebels and Rangers in Connecticut. And if they could rid themselves of Simcoe… it made Molly giddy just thinking about it. With him gone, that would alleviate many of their anxieties.

The plan was still risky though. Getting Caleb to help wouldn’t be an issue. She knew he would gladly do it. As for Hewlett, if he agreed… _if_ he agreed.

She finally shook her head, “But if this works, it still doesn’t mean we’ll be free from Hewlett. He’ll still know. He can still betray us at any time.”

“That’s why we’re leaving?”

She blinked in surprise.

“What, you and Mary?”

“Aye. Hewlett already said he’d be willing for forget all of this if I agreed to flee.”

“So, me and Anna, we’ll…”

“Aye, you’ll be here on your own.”

As much as it pained her to think about not seeing Mary again, she knew it was for the best. It wasn’t safe for them here anymore.

“And what of Robert Rogers?”

“I’m taking care of it. He’ll be gone before I leave.”

“And is that the truth?”

“Molly, I need you to trust me.”

“I trust you to keep me safe. To keep Anna safe. But I don’t trust you to keep yourself safe.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything. He was still waiting for an answer. After a moment, he got one.

“Okay.” Her head was beginning to hurt from mulling everything over. “And me. What am I doing in all of this?”

“Absolutely nothing. Remain at the tavern and act as if nothing is the matter.”

She nodded slowly, “Alright.” A beat. “Alright. If you think this will work… I’m willing to trust you. You arrange everything.”

Abe smiled and kissed her on the cheek.

“Molly Strong, you’re a saint, you know that?”

She quietly chuckled at the comment, and Abe crossed the room to where a small table was set up. There was an assortment of random supplies on the table; mostly food. He procured two bottle of alcohol and brought them back over to where she was.

“A toast is in order.”

They each raised their bottles, smirking at each other. It reminded Molly of when they were children. When they used to sneak out and go on adventures in the woods together.

“To the downfall of Captain Simcoe.”

“To victory.”

With that, they clinked the bottles together and drank.


	4. 3x03

The next day, Anna came in for her shift at the tavern. It was midday, and the tavern was filled with redcoats. The men were chatting noisily. The only topic of conversation was the Rangers. Molly hadn’t seen any of the men the Rangers had briefly taken hostage, but she did catch a glimpse at the man Simcoe had beaten.

She didn’t know the redcoat’s name, but there was a deep slash that ran across his face. It ran from his forehead along the bridge of his nose. It was practically all exposed flesh. The skin was raw and puffy. When she had served him ale, she remembered the way the scab on the jagged wound cracked open and fresh blood beaded along his face. She remembered the way the man kept wincing when he pressed a handkerchief to his injury to mop up the blood.

Molly was wiping down tables when Anna approached her.

“There you are! Where have you been?” Molly smiled and hugged her sister-in-law briefly.

It had been a couple of weeks since they’d last spoken, which was strange for Molly. Ever since Anna and Selah wed, she had spoken to Anna practically every day for the past few years. She missed her company.

“I’m not staying long.”

Molly’s expression fell. “Why not?

“Because I resigned my position. I spoke with DeJong this morning.”

Molly blinked, trying to digest that information.

Anna continued, lowering her voice. “I also spoke with Edmund. He’s agreed to meet with Abe.”

_About the alliance against Simcoe._

“Aye, I saw Abe last night.”

“Good, then you already know.”

“Why are you leaving?” She didn’t want to talk about alliances or the war; she wanted to discuss work. Although Molly hadn’t had contact with her brother in well over a year, this tavern was their… _her_ last tie to Selah. Of course, that was what she liked to think was her excuse. That wasn’t fully true though. However, she was curious to know why Anna was leaving.

“I don’t have time for it anymore.” Anna shrugged, “I have a new position at Whitehall, and it involves me trying to keep the peace between Edmund and Abe.”

Molly rolled her eyes, but she didn’t say anymore on the subject. She didn’t know why she was still trying to understand her sister-in-law.

Molly changed the subject, “Right… Hey, this alliance… you’re sure Edmund will go for it?”

“I believe so. He despises the man more than we do.”

The man as in Simcoe.

“How long do you think it will take?”

“All I know is that he will be dead within the coming weeks…” A beat, “Are you alright here? You know, Edmund’s offer for you to move to Whitehall still stands.

“Aye, I know. It’s just…” Molly paused, suddenly forgetting all her words. She had been going back and forth on that for the past weeks.

She could’ve moved to Whitehall when the Rangers had left town. But she didn’t. And now she was too prideful to admit she was scared. Abe’s words were still with her. About how her presence could lead to Hewlett changing his mind. How her presence could cause him to consider her a traitor as well. If anyone had the motivation, it was her. And then there was Judge Woodhull. Abe’s father didn’t like Anna as it was. Molly wasn’t sure if Mary could convince him to forget his dislike towards _her_ as well.

“I don’t know.” She finally said with a shrug.

Anna thought nothing of the comment. She just added,

“You should come visit us. Mary’s been inquiring about you. The company of her father-in-law is taking its toll on her.” Anna deadpanned.

Molly scoffed in spite of herself.

“I’m sure.” She agreed. “Aye. I’ll come by eventually. But only _after_ all this business with the Rangers is over.”

They exchanged a few more pleasantries, and then Anna left the tavern. And Molly was stood behind the bar, praying that Hewlett and Abe would come to some sort of an agreement.

* * *

A week passed, and Molly had not spoken with Anna or Abe, or anyone really. She had remained at the tavern; where it was far busier than usual now that she was the only barmaid. Now that Anna was gone, Mr. DeJong began joining her on shifts. He typically only joined her for the midday shifts, and she was expected to work by herself during nights.

Molly was trying her hardest to behave as nothing was the matter. But she had to admit, Without Anna working with her, she was also more on edge than she usually would be. It took her a few days to adjust to the Rangers’ sudden presence. After how they parted ways last time, she was still wary of the few men who had insulted her. She saw them sometimes, but they behaved as if the interaction had never occurred. Still, she knew that was more Simcoe’s doing that her own. She was certain their opinion of her had not changed.

Working evenings alone was proving to be tiresome. Ever since what happened at the church, the Rangers and redcoats would not frequent the tavern at the same time. The redcoats drank during the day, and the Rangers at night. She had spent the entire day rushing back and forth. Cleaning this, cleaning that, refilling pitchers and mugs and… Her hair was coming loose and stray hairs from her bangs were falling in her eyes, and they were sticking to her forehead, which was slightly damp from perspiration. She kept trying to blow them out of her face, but they kept falling back into place.

“Are you alright?”

She was startled by the sudden voice. It was late in the evening, but the tavern was still packed with Rangers. She turned to look at who had addressed her. It was Simcoe, sitting alone at one of the tables. She didn’t know why, but she had hardly seen him since his arrival back in town. After he mentioned Ben, she believed it was only a matter of time before he questioned her further. She was getting paranoid. _Is he avoiding me because he suspects something?_

She stopped beside his table and tried to give him a reassuring nod.

“Aye.”

Right as she said that, she fumbled with the pitcher in her hands and ale spilled down the front of her dress. She swore, but not with as much enthusiasm as she normally did.

“Sit with me.”

“I’m fine.” She lied, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. “Just a bit clumsy today.”

“Sit.”

She stood there, hugging her pitcher to her chest, eyeing him uncertainly. As much as she wanted to protest, she had to admit, she was exhausted.

After a second of hesitation, she slid into the chair across from him. He pushed his mug across the table towards her. She was surprised by the gesture. The mug was still half filled, but she topped it off with what ale had survived in the pitcher from when she dropped it, then she brought the mug to her lips and began to gulp down its contents. When the mug was drained, she exhaled deeply and leaned her elbows on the table, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She didn’t realize how badly she needed a drink until them.

“I cannot help but notice that you have been the only one working here these last days.” Simcoe spoke up. “Where may your sister-in-law be? I saw her at Whitehall. Has she resigned her position?”

“Aye. She has.” Her voice was raspy and she let out a cough to clear her throat.

“Is she unwell?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t spoken.” She was struggling not to roll her eyes. The last thing she wanted was for her evening to consist of spilling ale on herself and exchanging pleasantries with Captain Simcoe.

“You two have not had a falling-out, I hope.”

“No…”

She paused. She was unsure how much she should share with him. On one hand, she had intended to manipulate him in order to learn information. But now, she knew his death was imminent. In that moment, with her head slightly fuzzy from exhaustion, she decided it might be fun to humor him. After all, what she said now didn’t matter.

“I don’t know.” She shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “It’s been different since she moved to Whitehall. And since Cicero departed.” A beat. “Have you heard word from Akinbode?”

“No, actually, I have not.”

She squinted her eyes in response. She hadn’t expected that answer.

He continued, “I am beginning to wonder if he deserted as well, much like Tanner and MacInnis.”

She swallowed, feeling a wave of guilt pass over her. She tried to act nonchalant.

“Still no word from them either?”

“No… May I ask you a personal question?”

She shrugged, “I suppose.”

“If you were to begin corresponding with Benjamin Tallmadge, would he correspond back?”

She was certain that if she had been taking a drink, she would’ve choked and nearly keeled over. _Shit_. She thought. This was exactly what she was worried about. She set her jaw and looked to the side.

“What is this newfound obsession with Benjamin Tallmadge?” she snapped. She hadn’t meant to sound so defensive, but she did.

“It is not an obsession. Whoever this man Culper is, he is in league with Tallmadge. If there is a chance he will write to you, it may save all of us a great deal of trouble.” He paused. “He may give some hint as to who Culper is.”

She wanted to laugh. _He has the same idea I did. I wanted to manipulate Simcoe. And now he wants me to manipulate Ben._

“I have not spoken with him since he left for the war.”

Simcoe nodded, “You were close with his father though. Surely that would grant a correspondence?”

She shook her head slowly, “You ask too much of me. I have nothing to say to him, and I doubt he has anything more to say to me.”

A beat.

“I apologize.” Simcoe said. “I didn’t mean to cause you distress.”

“I’m not in distress. I just-” _Just what? What am I trying to say?_ “I just wish people would stop reminding me about that part of my life.”

It felt weird to say that. There was some truth to it though. She had been living as a loyalist for all these years. Although she did support the rebellion, she also wished her neighbors could forget about her ties to the rebels. She wished they would stop judging her for her beliefs.

“You miss him?”

She blinked. She hadn’t expected Simcoe to ask her that. For a second, she felt panicked. _Is he trying accuse me of something?_

“I miss a lot of things from before the war.” She decided to say.

“As do I.”

“Like what?”

She poured what was left in the pitcher into the mug and took another drink.

“I suppose what life was like in the colonies before the rebels.”

“What, you’re from the colonies?” She scoffed in disbelief.

“No. I’m from England.” He replied. “I was serving in the King’s Army in the colonies before the war.”

“Where, York City?”

“Boston.”

Her expression fell. If he had been assigned as a soldier in Boston, suddenly it made sense why he harbored so much disdain towards her and Selah for being rebel sympathizers. Boston, Massachusetts was where the colonists first began to openly rebel against the Crown. It was also where some of the more violent and radical protests had taken place. The Boston Massacre. The Boston Tea Party… In a way, Boston was infamous among the redcoats for its disloyalty against the Crown.

“I didn’t know.” Her voice had gotten quieter.

“Why would you know?”

She was chewing on the inside of her cheek now. She had always felt uncomfortable hearing news of the violent protests. She was all for rebellion, but at the same time, she knew things weren’t as black and white as some of the rebels believed it to be. That was the only thing that she and Ben ever argued about. She was still annoyed that there was a war, but if she stopped supporting the war, then she stopped supporting her friends, her family as well. And she wasn’t prepared to do that.

“How long were you in Boston?” she asked.

“A few years. I was an ensign when I arrived; a lieutenant by time I transferred here.”

“What was it like?”

Simcoe faintly smirked. He felt humored by her inquiries. Usually she was so defensive. In fact, he was surprised she was encouraging further conversation. She was always making excuses for herself, always making excuses _not_ to talk. He didn’t want to say more about his time in Boston though. Some of his war stories were graphic; violent; he knew that much; and some he himself wanted to forget. After all, he was speaking with a lady.

“Let’s just say, when I was transferred here, I was under the impression this was a sleepy loyalist town. That this would be a well-deserved break from the city.”

She mulled over his words for a few seconds. When she thought about it, she couldn’t recall _when_ he arrived in Setauket. She vaguely remembered seeing his face around town and at the tavern, but she had never paid him much attention. In fact, she had only paid him attention when he held that gun to Abe’s head in the tavern. All those months ago when Selah was arrested.

“Have you ever been to Boston?” He saw it as his turn to ask a question.

She shook her head, “Never. The only city I’ve ever set foot in is York City.” A beat. “Where are you from in England?”

 _What are you doing?_ She asked herself. _Stop talking to him. Just stop. You really don’t care about any of this. You’ve humored him enough, so just stop talking._ But she couldn’t.

“I was born in Northamptonshire,” he responded, “but I was raised in Exeter.”

“That’s in Devon , aye?” She was vaguely familiar with the geography of England.

“Right. I was educated there.”

“Did you attend university?”

“Yes.”

“What did you study?”

“Law.”

 _It’s always law. Why does everyone study law? At least Ben picked something different. He studied to become a teacher_.

“Why did you join the King’s Army?” she asked next.

She swallowed. She was still thirsty, but she decided she wouldn’t go in search of another pitcher. She couldn’t help it; she couldn’t stop herself. Although she was tired, she was also bored and too nosy for her own good. Besides, the only company she had had for the last week was Mr. DeJong.

“My father was an officer in the Royal Navy. He intended for me to follow a similar path.”

“Then why did you study law?” she cut in, “You don’t need a law degree to be a soldier.”

He briefly smiled.

“No... My father died when I was a child. My mother’s family saw that I become educated. But it was always his wish for me to go into the military. Despite everything, it only seemed right to uphold his wish.”

A beat.

“What of you?” he countered. “I’ve made inquiries about you before. Is there anything your neighbors failed to mention?”

“Depends. What did they say about me?”

“That you have lived here your whole life. That you spent your childhood running around with your brother and his friends, which eventually led to you becoming engaged to one of those friends. The people in your life all seemed to be Whigs and rebel sympathizers… Even you.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“Aye. I was…” she said slowly.

“I know you still are.”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. He continued,

“There’s no need to be ashamed of it.”

“There’s not?

“Perhaps if I was raised by Whigs, I would hold sympathies as well... What I find strange is that your neighbors still have such a low opinion of you even after you’ve shown that you do not act upon your sympathies.”

_Why is he saying all this? He doesn’t have to._

“No offence, but I don’t believe you.” She decided to be honest. She still believed he was saying this to manipulate or belittle her, and all she wanted was a straight answer. “You would hold _sympathies_ as well.” She scoffed, “You don’t believe that.”

He was quiet for a moment before responding.

“I understand your skepticism.”

She scoffed, “Do you? No, I don’t think you do. I think you’re just saying this to get a rise out of me.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, his face scrunched in confusion. Although he had known her for a long time now, he still couldn’t understand her.

“You believe me to be ingenuine?” he finally said.

“Of course. You’re messing with my head. You’re–”

He cut her off, “Ms. Strong, “I grow tired of this game we have been playing.”

She froze. She was still eyeing him, trying to size him up, but she was at a loss. Her paranoia was getting to her. _He knows about Ben… He knows about MacInnis_. She wanted to growl in frustration and find a way to push those thoughts out of her head, but she couldn’t. She knew they were clouding her judgement. _But what if they aren’t?_ She had no idea what was genuine and what wasn’t.

He continued, “Can we not speak freely among one another?”

She laughed aloud at the comment.

“No, I may not speak freely around you. I don’t trust you.” She snapped leaning her elbows on the table and pushing herself forward. She lowered her voice. “You want me to speak freely? Then I will do so… I loathe you.”

He snorted in amusement. Her expression fell.

“Are you trying to intimidate me, Ms. Strong?” he was smiling now.

“W-What, you don’t believe me?”

 _Give it a rest. Just walk away._ But she couldn’t.

“If you _loathe_ me, Ms. Strong, so be it. But I don’t believe that to be true.”

“And why’s that?”

“Ms. Strong, I will admit, I struggle at conveying _my_ emotions. But you? I believe you to be worse than I am.” He had his elbows on the table, and he was leaning forward as well. “You said you believe me to be ingenuine… To say I am insulted would be an understatement… Do you truly think so little of me? Do you truly believe me to have no sense of loyalty? No sense of honor?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but she found herself stammering. She really didn’t know what to say. _If that’s not true, then what is? I refuse to believe I’ve misjudged him. No, he’s doing this on purpose… No… I_ …

“Loyalty towards who? Me?” she stuttered.

“Yes.”

“But why?”

“I have the same question for you. Why do you remain loyal to the Crown? You are a loyalist who has been abandoned by everyone you consider family. If you decided to cross into rebel territory, few would blame you. However, you are adamant about remaining loyal.”

She didn’t know what to say. She knew he was right though. She always acted so defensive, but there was no need for it – at least now she knew there was no need for it. Before she could think of a response, he rose from his chair.

“Good evening, Ms. Strong.”

And he departed to his quarters, leaving her alone at the table.

* * *

Molly was angry for the next few days. Whenever she saw Simcoe, she tried her hardest to avoid him. And if they did meet each other’s gaze, she found herself glaring at him. The more she thought about their conversation, the more irritated she became.

 _I hate him_. She kept telling herself. _It was foolish to humor him. He’s the enemy. If they met, he would try to kill Ben without hesitation. The same goes for Caleb. Or Selah. Or me for that matter. If he knew what_ I’ve _been doing. If he knew I killed MacInnis…_ She was organizing supplies in the room behind the bar when he approached her next. She practically ran into him as she turned.

“Can I help you?” she asked. Her voice was tense.

“It appears we have located Samuel Culper.”

“Oh.” Her expression fell. “Where was he?”

“Rocky Point.”

She knew that place. It was a town a few hours outside of Setauket.

“Major Hewlett discovered his name among some old paperwork. It seemed Culper is a former resident of Setauket using his wealth and standing to masquerade as a Tory, hiding in plain sight.”

In that moment, she thought of Abe. It seemed his plan had worked. And suddenly she felt foolish for letting her conversation with Simcoe affect her so. After all, it didn’t matter. He was a dead man walking.

“And, and you’re going to –”

“To bring him to justice.” Simcoe responded definitively.

“When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow.”

She nodded slowly. Her anger was practically dissipated now.

“How long will you be gone?”

“Hard to say. With luck, perhaps we will return at the end of the week. With Culper as our prisoner.”

“Well then, I wish you luck.”

“Thank you.”

They parted ways soon after that. And as Molly stood there in the storage room, she prayed that Caleb would make every bullet count, for Simcoe was marching to his death.

* * *

Molly offered a modest smile to the sentry who escorted her through the threshold. She was at Whitehall. The Rangers had left town that morning, and the first thing she did was make her excuses and walk to the estate.

“Ms. Strong.”

She turned her head towards the office that was adjacent to the front entrance. Judge Woodhull rose from his desk and motioned for her to join him in the room. She glanced around briefly, but she didn’t see anyone else in the main parlor, and she didn’t hear anyone descending the stairs. That meant, for now, she was stuck with the company of Abe’s father. He moved to sit in one of the armchairs by the hearth and she joined him in the opposite chair.

“What brings you here?”

“It’s been a long time since I was last here. I owe Mary a visit.”

“Don’t lie to me.” He snapped.

She was startled by his tone. She had not spoken to him in many months, but last time they had spoken, they had parted on good enough terms. She had not forgotten what Abe told her though: Judge Woodhull knew that Abe was a spy; he was the one who sold him out to Hewlett.

She lowered her voice, “What am I supposed to have lied about?”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Do not plead ignorance.” He lowered his voice as well, to match her volume. “I know you’re involved in this in some way.”

“Involved in what? All I know is what I’ve heard from Anna, and we’ve hardly spoken since she took up residence here. So, I don’t underst–”

He cut her off, “Whatever you’re planning, and I know that the four of you are conspiring in some way, it won’t work. I’ll see to it that it doesn’t work.”

_Four? Abe, Anna, me, and…? Who else? Mary? He knows we’re all involved?_

She glanced toward the other side of the room to ensure that they were truly alone.

“Whatever you think you know, I can guarantee you’re mistaken in some way.”

He chuckled darkly, “I am mistaken on nothing. I have known about my son’s involvement for months. And there is nothing stopping me from turning in _you_ , or that harlot sister-on-law.”

Molly was struggling not to roll her eyes. Although she didn’t have all the information, she could tell he was bluffing.

“But you haven’t yet.” She whispered, her voice strained, “Because you know that any of us could indict _you_ just as well.”

“Me?”

“You’ve known for months, you say. That makes you an accomplice. You’ve been keeping us a secret from the Major. Isn’t that just as bad as being directly involved in what we’re doing…” she leaned towards him. “Listen,” she whispered, “if this is about Simcoe, don’t fret. It will all be over soon. But we need to trust Abe.”

His eyebrows knitted together. “What are you talking about?”

Her expression mirrored him. “What are _you_ talking about?”

He rolled his eyes, “The engagement of course.”

She was taken aback.

“Engagement?”

“Good God!” he let out an exasperated sigh.

“Wait,” she was waving her hand, gesturing for him to stop, “what engagement?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. She could’ve sworn he was struggling to hide a smirk. He seemed pleased that she was out of the loop regarding this matter.

“That’s a matter you need to discuss with–”

“Molly?”

He was cut off by a sudden voice. They both turned towards the office door, and there stood Mary Woodhull. A wide grin spread across Molly’s face.

“Hello.”

Molly rose from her chair and crossed the room, embracing her friend. She shot Judge Woodhull a look before guiding Mary out of the office. Both women spoke in hushed voices.

“My word, I didn’t know you were coming.”

“That’s the way I wanted it.”

Mary tightened her grip on her friend’s forearms. “You need to get out of here. Hewlett knows.”

“Aye, about Abe, not about us.”

“What, you know?”

Molly nodded, “I went to see Abe at your farm.”

A look of relief passed over Mary’s face.

“Then you saw Thomas as well. How is he?”

“Thomas seemed well. No different than usual.”

“Thank God.”

“And Abe seemed…” Molly’s voice trailed off.

Mary didn’t need an explanation though. She understood. They both understood. Molly shook her head, changing subjects.

“Your father-in-law mentioned some sort of engagement. What’s happened?”

Mary looked confused.

“Hasn’t Anna been to see you?”

"Aye, but she didn’t tell me much.”

Mary looked away briefly, wanting to say more. Molly noticed.

“What is it?”

“It’s not my place to say.” Mary said awkwardly. “You should ask Anna about the engagement.”

“I intend to. Where is she?”

“Upstairs, with the Major. They’re looking over some papers… I’ll fetch them for you.”

Molly remained near the entryway, watching her friend hurry up the stairs. She had no idea what was happening. _Engagement?_ She couldn’t make sense of it. _But_ who _is getting engaged? Did they hear something from Ben?_ She still hadn’t written to him. She couldn’t personally sneak away to the dead drop, and it was hard enough to talk with Anna and Abe. She hadn’t made contact in a long time.

A few minutes later, Hewlett and Anna appeared at the top of the staircase.

“Molly, it’s good to see you. I’ve been meaning to pay you a visit for some time.” Hewlett said as he met her at the bottom of the stairs.

He gestured for her to follow him into the parlor. She complied, but not before shooting Anna a look. Anna seemed nervous. They all found seats around the parlor.

“I know this is entirely irregular,” Hewlett began, “but I cannot in good conscience go forward without your consent.”

Molly eyebrows knitted together, “Consent for what?”

Hewlett and Anna exchanged a look.

“You haven’t told her?” Hewlett sounded hurt.

“No.” Anna admitted. “Because I wanted us to tell her together.” She hesitantly turned to look at Molly. “Edmund and I are to be married.”

Molly blinked.

“Sorry?”

She didn’t think she heard that right… no, she couldn’t have heard that right. It didn’t make sense. It…

“What about Selah?” she blurted. That was the only thing she could think of.

Hewlett and Anna exchanged another look.

“I received word from Selah.” Anna began.

Hewlett nodded, “It seems your brother has requested a divorce.”

Molly scrunched her face in confusion. _A divorce? But, but_ … It still didn’t make sense. Selah didn’t know about the affair. Ben and Caleb didn’t know. No one else knew.

“Anna, I need to speak with you alone.” Molly decided to say.

“Right. I’m sure this must be a lot to take in. Take all the time you need.” With that, Hewlett stepped out of the parlor, leaving the two Strong women alone. As soon as he was out of earshot, Molly moved so that she was sitting beside Anna.

“What are you doing?” Molly was trying to keep her voice down, but she could hear the anger in her tone. Anna hesitated to answer, and that’s when Molly grabbed her wrist, “I want to see the divorce papers.”

“No.” Anna said quietly.

“Why not?”

Anna didn’t answer, and that’s when Molly realized what was happening. She laughed bitterly.

“Because if I see the papers,” she said slowly, “I’ll see that they’re not written in Selah’s hand. They’re written in yours… You may be playing Edmund for a fool, but you cannot do the same with me.”

Anna’s expression changed. She no longer looked embarrassed; she looked determined.

“I will not deny it. I am not ashamed.” Anna said.

“Why are you doing this?”

“To protect the ring. Edmund knows about Abe. But when we are married, I will have influence over him. He’ll listen to me.”

“I know you’re trying to protect us, but this is illegal.” Molly tried to protest.

Anna scoffed, “Illegal.”

“I’m serious! If you are discovered, you will be fined for adultery. And you don’t have _anything_ for them to take… And what of Edmund? His position would be ruined by the scandal.”

Anna shrugged, “I know.”

A beat.

“I don’t understand.” Molly added. “What’s the purpose of this? Just because you’re married, it doesn’t guarantee that he will keep Abe’s involvement a secret.”

“Yes, it does. Because I’ve convinced him to sell his commission. Once we wed, we’re to move to his home in Scotland.”

It took Molly a few moments to digest those words. She was taken aback; by the news and by the realization that Anna would really sacrifice everything in order to protect the ring. Molly wasn’t sure if she could do the same if placed in that position.

“W-What… What about Selah?”

Her voice has gone quiet. She knew there was no point in arguing with Anna. Her mind was made up, and Molly had been excluded just enough so that she had no say in this matter.

“I’ve had no news of him since last we parted.” Anna replied.

“So? Neither have I… What aren’t you telling me?”

A beat.

“Anna? What aren’t you telling me?”

“Listen, I am doing this to protect Abraham just as much as I am doing this to protect Edmund?” Anna noticed the confusion on her sister-in-law’s face, so she explained, “He hasn’t told you?”

“Who?”

“Edmund gave Abe a choice; he will keep his secret if Abe and Mary agree to quietly leave town and cross into rebel territory. But Abe has no intention of leaving Setauket quietly. He’s plotting to kill Edmund. But if I marry him, then _we’ll_ leave. And Edmund will live.”

Molly could feel her anger rising. She was having a hard time holding her tongue.

“So you’re playing the martyr? Is that it?”

Anna remained calm though. Molly never understood how Anna could always control her temper.

“We all have our roles to play. Unfortunately, our role is not simply playing soldier… Don’t worry Molly, this is exactly why I waited to tell you. I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

“You’re right, I don’t understand… How can you do this? A year ago, you despised Edmund just as much as you despised any of the other redcoats. Hell, just as much as you despised Simcoe.”

“So?”

“How do you so easily fall in love?”

Molly meant it. That was the part she never understood. How could Anna love Abe, but then go on to loving Selah? And once Selah was gone, how could she so easily go back to Abe? And now how could she love Edmund like she did? She said she loved him enough to save his life. But Molly couldn’t think of many people she loved enough to protect.

“You really love him?” she asked after a moment.

“I love him enough… Enough to save his life.”

Neither of them said anything for a long time. But then Anna spoke up.

“When I go through with this, do I or do I not have your support?”

Molly nodded. _I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for Ben_. She thought. As long as the ring remained intact, he would be safe. Caleb would be safe too. With their wordless agreement, they rose to their feet, and Anna went to fetch Edmund again. And Molly, feigning happiness, went to give the engaged couple her blessing.

* * *

That night, when Molly was walking back into town, she stopped by Abe’s farm.

“Was I the last to know?” she asked as soon as she had stepped into the shack.

Abe rolled his eyes, “She’s not really going to go through with it.”

“She seemed pretty adamant to me.”

“Don’t worry. Everything will work out.”

Abe began pacing slightly. Molly eyed her friend and that’s when she realized how disheveled he seemed. He kept saying he would take care of things; he kept speaking as if what had happened over the past few months hadn’t happened. But he was just as paranoid as she was.

“It’s your doing, you know.” She said.

Abe scoffed bitterly.

“Don’t you start with me.” He sighed.

“Let’s just pray that Caleb succeeds.”

“He will. Of course, he will. He has to.”

Molly stayed for a little longer. And the more she thought about her conversations with Anna and Abe, and Judge Woodhull, and even with Mary, the more skeptical she became. It felt like things were slowly falling apart, but she hoped she was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone comes for me in the comments, no, I have not forgotten about Simcoe's "Black Hole of Calcutta" backstory. That will be coming up later.


	5. 3x04

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed, I decided to change the rating to M. I’m upping the rating bc in my mind this fic has a different vibe than the original and I don’t feel so self-conscious about adding some spicy scenes later on 👀 As always, we'll see what happens.
> 
> Also, this chapter was a pain in the left butt cheek to write! But now that all the setup is out of the way, the true slow burn/enemies to lovers can begin... I'm very excited for this.

**May 1778**

“Congratulations!”

“Congratulations are in order!”

Molly was struggling not to roll her eyes, and that’s why she stepped out of the parlor.

She was at Whitehall, she kept telling herself that she was there to visit Mary and nothing more. But she knew she was lying to herself. As soon as she had arrived, she had found herself swept into the conversations surrounding the upcoming wedding. Molly thought she could handle that. Sitting beside them, acting as if nothing was the matter. But that was proving to be difficult. News of the engagement hadn’t fully circulated yet, so plenty of Hewlett’s men kept mentioning it; kept congratulating the couple.

It was weird for her to watch Anna and Edmund now. Whenever they interacted, he didn’t hide his fondness of her like he had before. Mary had once against found herself trapped into exchanging pleasantries, and Molly had felt no guilt abandoning her. So, she made herself scarce and went to hide in Judge Woodhull’s office.

The Judge was sat in his armchair, bouncing Thomas on his knee. He glanced toward where she was standing in the doorframe.

“I wish they would spare us the theatrics.” He commented before gesturing for her to step further into the room.

Molly wordlessly agreed, and she was certain it was one of the only times she had ever immediately agreed with anything Judge Woodhull had said. She ended up sitting in the empty armchair beside him. They sat there for several beats of silence. The two of them rarely spoke. Neither had discussed the engagement since that day Molly came to Whitehall and discovered what was happening. That was why Molly was surprised when the Judge next said.

“You seem to be a poorer mood than usual. What are your thoughts on all this?”

“Hm.” Was her response.

“I’m serious.” He continued, “This all seems a bit dramatic, even for you.”

“For me?” Her face scrunched in confusion. “You really think this was my idea? You’ve clearly not been speaking with your son recently.”

“Oh yes, the other traitor.”

Molly did roll her eyes this time. She didn’t understand why they had to tolerate Abe’s father. After all, _he_ was the one who told Hewlett about Abe, and even now they had to pretend to be on good terms.

“You’re no different than the rest of us.” She snapped. “You said so yourself, you’ve known about Abe’s involvement for a long time now. Yet, you said nothing. You’re as much a traitor as I am.”

The Judge was the one to chuckle now. His laugh was more in disbelief rather than actual amusement. “Nothing you say will convince me otherwise. You are no loyalist.” He exhaled sharply. “I fact, I have no problem telling the Major about your involvement as well. I could turn in you just as easily as I turned in my son.” He scoffed again and placed Thomas on the floor so he could play more comfortably. “No, you are no loyalist. You never will be.” He repeated. “No matter what Thomas may have believed.”

Molly froze. She swallowed, trying to seem unfazed, but she couldn’t hide the blush rising in her cheeks. Both she and the Judge glanced at the boy on the ground. But the Judge was not talking about _this_ Thomas; he was talking about _his_ Thomas. About Thomas Woodhull, Abe’s older brother.

“Is _that_ why you think so little of me?” Her expression had fallen, and her voice was barely above a whisper now. “What happened back then… It was a long time ago. We discussed it then.” _And now, no one but us knows about it._ She thought.

The Judge shot her a glare, and she knew it was true.

The Judge was referring to what happened nearly ten years ago, when his son Thomas was twenty-one and Molly was eighteen. Shortly after Abe and Ben had left for university, Thomas returned to Setauket to visit his father. Thomas had already graduated university, and he was newly enlisted in the King’s Army. He was a redcoat; an ensign.

The news of his enlistment came as no surprise to anyone. Thomas was very much like his father, and although the Judge had never said it aloud, everyone knew that Thomas was the Judge’s favorite son. Abe had always looked up to his brother, but he also had no problem making jokes about him with his friends. Ben and Caleb and Selah and Anna and Molly; none of them were fond of Thomas.

That was why it was such a shock when Thomas asked for Molly’s hand in marriage. Although he hadn’t explained why, Molly knew that the proposal was done as a way to anger his father. Something had happened between them, but neither Thomas nor the Judge would disclose what it was about.

The only people who knew about the proposal were Thomas and Molly and the Judge and Molly’s father. No one else knew; not even her mother or Selah. The Judge cited the families’ political disagreement as reason enough for the engagement not to happen. That as well as the local gossip about Molly. It didn’t matter that she behaved as a lady now. News about her childhood antics was in abundance, and Molly herself knew that that gossip was enough to turn any suitors away.

As for her father, Mr. Strong had no strong feelings on the matter. He was a just man, and he told his daughter that the decision was hers. If she wanted to marry Thomas, he would see that the proper dowries be exchanged to the Woodhulls.

The entire affair only lasted two days, and Molly found the entire thing to be bizarre. She declined the proposal, and Thomas didn’t seem surprised by her answer; which made Molly certain that the entire proposal was done simply to anger his father. Thomas treated her no differently than before. Even after Mr. Strong and Thomas died, neither Molly nor the Judge had mentioned the matter since. She assumed it was forgotten about. After all, it was forgotten in her mind. She hadn’t thought about it in years.

Molly was still shaking her head in disbelief. She couldn’t believe he had held this grudge for so long. “I don’t understand. Why are you telling me this?”

The Judge leaned forward in his seat as well, so that their faces were only mere inches apart. His voice sounded cold as he whispered,

“Because I know what you may be thinking. No matter what happens, even if Anna Strong signs those divorce papers, and if her marriage to Major Hewlett is affirmed, my views upon you will be no different. I have known you since you were an infant. And that is why my opinion of you will _never_ change. No matter what _anyone_ has said or will say.”

Her eyes took in the appearance of his face, and she could feel her facial expressions slipping into a look of disappointment. She was not disappointed by his words; they were will no surprise to her. But she was disappointed by the fact that Richard Woodhull would never change. _This vendetta. It’s never been against me or Anna… It has nothing to do with us. It has to do with his sons. This entire thing has always been about his sons._

* * *

When she left Whitehall later that day, she went to visit Abe at his farmhouse. He and Thomas were still living in the shack.

“Ah, look who’s here.” Abe sounded bitter when he answered the door. Despite his tone, he stepped to the side so she could come into the shack.

She glanced around the room briefly, almost still fearful that she would see Robert Rogers sneaking about. But all she was Thomas sitting on the cot playing with some makeshift toys.

“If you’re here to ask about Caleb, I haven’t heard from his yet.”

She internally swore. That wasn’t why she was here, but now she felt a new worry gnawing at her. It had already been a couple of weeks since the Rangers left for Rocky Point. Caleb said he would send word once the ambush was finished and once Simcoe was dead.

“No, that’s not why I came.” She shook her head. “I came to ask you about your father.”

Abe scoffed, and took a seat at the small table on the other corner of the room. The table and chairs were all rickety, and the chair made a sharp creaking sound when he took a seat.

“What about him?” Abe asked.

“Have you spoken to him?”

“Spoken to him about what? About turning me in?”

She let out a sigh. Suddenly she wondered if it this was such a good idea.

“ _When_ did you last speak to him?” she tried to be more precise.

He shrugged, “Not since before he told Hewlett. Mary and Anna are the only two relaying information back to me.” A beat. “Why do you care?”

She scrunched her face for a second. She had been thinking about how to word this on the entire walk over here, and, even now, she couldn’t think of the right thing to say.

“I think you should talk to him _now_.”

Abe rolled his eyes.

“I’m serious. Listen, after Anna and Hewlett are married and moved, your father is the only ally we’ll have.” She bit her lip. “He’s the only one who could manage to get you a pass into York City.” She was remembering all the business trips Abe used to accompany his father on.

Abe laughed aloud.

“How long have you been thinking up that scheme?”

She scowled. He was teasing her.

“I’m serious, Abe. Your father knows, and we can’t just ignore that fact. If you don’t talk to him, what’s to stop him from turning you in to some other redcoat?”

Abe cut her off before she could continue, “Will you stop? None of that is going to happen.”

Her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

“What do you–”

“Because I’ve seen to it… As soon as Anna told me her plan, I told myself I wouldn’t let her go through with it… You want me to talk to my father? Don’t worry. I was already planning on it. And when I see him, I’m going to share my suspicions that Anna’s divorce will not stand up to scrutiny… Now, he's a cowardly shit, but he's a good judge. He can spot a forgery from a mile away. And the wedding will be called off.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but she was speechless. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“What good will that do?” she sputtered.

Abe seemed unfazed by his own words.

“It's for Anna’s own good. And, yes, it's for the good of the ring.”

“No!” she exclaimed. “No, it’s not. It’s for _your_ own good… If you do this, Edmund’s reputation will be besmirched. As will Anna’s, even more than it already is.” She was frantically trying to piece everything together in her head. “And what of your father. Doing this accomplishes _what_? How does this amend your relationship with him?”

Abe was back on his feet again.

“I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

“Then help me understand!” her voice was strained.

“You want to understand, fine!” Abe’s tone was rising as he became more irritated. “What my father did, when he turned me in, it had nothing to do with me. It’s because of Thomas.” He pointed and she followed his finger in the direction to where his son was still sat. “My father does not give a damn about King and country. All he cares about is lining his own pockets and getting custody of his grandson.”

Molly wanted to laugh aloud and tell him he was wrong. But then she considered everything that his father had been involved in. When Selah was arrested, it was Judge Woodhull who ordered that Selah’s cauliflower crop be confiscated. Abe had later gone and sold the crop in the city. She was sure the crop was sold to the King’s Army, but then who was getting the money?

And then she thought about Reverend Tallmadge and Caleb’s uncle. The Reverend’s small home was confiscated after he fled town, and it given to the redcoats as a home to board some of them in. And after Caleb’s uncle was killed, his estate was confiscated, which meant that his apple orchards were too. So, who was making money off the apple orchards now? It certainly wasn’t any other townspeople. In all those instances, Magistrate Richard Woodhull had been the man to oversee all the confiscations. _He’s the one getting the money._ She realized.

“Why haven’t you mentioned this until now?” she asked. “Why hasn’t Mary told me?”

He shrugged, “Figured it’d be better you didn’t know.”

“Does Anna know about this?”

“Of course.”

Her expression fell. She felt a tightness in her chest. It was the same feeling she had before when she realized she was being excluded from all the secrets related to the ring.

“Abraham!”

“What?” he spat. “So now you know. Now you can go off and write to your _precious_ _Benjamin_ about what’s happening back home.”

Her mouth fell agape. She couldn’t have heard him right.

“What are you talking about?”

“I know that’s what you do in all your reports. You two write to each other. Probably sharing all your grievances about me and Anna.”

When she looked at Abe now, she hardly recognized him. He was far more paranoid than before. And now the things he was saying. Did he know what he was saying? What he was implying?

“You really think that little of me?” her voice sounded much smaller now.

“Mary seems to. She’s the one who believes it to be true.”

Molly felt as if she’d been slapped in the face. _Mary too?_

She swallowed, keeping her voice steady as she said, “I have never, and I would never do something so petty.”

“Well you’ve done pettier things before.”

She scowled.

“Not to endanger the ring. _Never_ to endanger the ring.”

She knew he didn’t believe her. A few beats of silence passed, and then Abe gestured towards the front door.

“It’s probably best if you leave.”

She felt like she was losing him. Losing her friendship to him. Losing any ounce of trust that they still shared. She reached out and grabbed his hand.

“Please, don’t do this.” She pleaded. She didn’t know what else to do.

Abe shook his head slowly.

“I won’t make you that promise.”

She let his hand fall from her grip. She had lost him.

* * *

She was back at Whitehall the next day. She found Anna and managed to get her alone. They were hiding in Anna’s room to get away. Molly wasted no time with formalities.

“Anna, he’s going to tell his father the divorce papers are a forgery.”

Anna had to take a seat. The news was unexpected.

“Anna, what should we do?”

Molly never liked asking people that, but she didn’t know the answer. She didn’t know what to do.

“All we can do.” Anna rubbed her temples for a second, “We must pray that Abe’s father will not believe it. We must pray he will not object at the wedding.”

The two women stared at each other for a few seconds.

“Will you talk to him?” Molly asked quietly.

They both knew she was talking about Abe.

Anna shook her head, “I can try, but I already know what his answer will be.” She scoffed, and Molly could hear the disappointment in her voice, “He doesn’t listen to me anymore.”

“Why not?”

She didn’t mean to pry, but the truth was, Molly knew she had been so consumed by anger before, about the affair, and that’s why she never thought to ask Anna questions about her relationship with Abe.

“He’s too corrupted by jealousy to listen.” Anna shrugged.

“You have to do something!”

“There’s nothing else we can do. Not without exposing ourselves and our involvement in the ring.”

Molly swore aloud. She knew it was true. They exchanged a few more words, and then Molly left the bedroom. She needed to get back to the tavern. When she was descending the staircase, she was startled by a familiar voice.

“There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

It was Mary. Once they were both at the bottom of the stairs, she looped her arm with Molly’s and walked with her outside. They had made considerable distance from the house when Mary spoke next,

“Have you spoken to Abe recently?”

Molly glanced at her friend, suddenly feeling no friendliness towards her.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I was told I couldn’t be trusted. I might say something I shouldn’t to my precious Benjamin.”

Mary stumbled slightly and her expression fell. Molly noticed that her friend was blushing.

“Yeah, I saw Abe.” Molly added. She felt no pleasure making Mary squirm. In fact, a part of her felt guilty for her harsh tone, and she suddenly wished she hadn’t said anything. It wasn’t Mary’s fault they were all caught up in this. “Still no word on the ambush.”

Mary nodded.

“Molly, what I said to him.” She was stammering. “I said it out of anger. I never intended for you to hear those words.”

Molly put her hands on her shoulders. “I know. I’m sorry. I lost my temper.” She paused. “I know he’s your husband. And I know it is not my business to say, but you two are the ones who should’ve left town.”

“I know.” Mary’s voice broke. “Anna told me why she’s marrying the Major.”

They stood there for a few seconds.

“Listen, when all of this is over, it will just be us. You, me, Abe. We’ll be the only ones involved in all this. Abe doesn’t trust me.” Mary opened her mouth to protest, but Molly didn’t let her. “He told me so. And if you feel the same way, then tell me now. Because if that is true, then I will make plans to leave at the same time Anna does.”

She hadn’t even considered that until that instant. But saying it lifted a weight from her shoulders. She did feel better.

“No. Of course I trust you.” Mary reassured her. “Now that we know what side we’re both on, I think it’ll be better. It can be closer to old times.”

 _Old times_. It was weird to realize that Mary was only referring to very recent times. But the more Molly thought about their old visits with one another, the more she felt an ache for those times together. She missed the mundaneness. And when she considered working with Mary… She knew the two of them could work together to control Abe. To help him be a better spy.

She felt a smirk tugging on her lips, “Good. I’m glad we’re in agreement… Now hurry back before Hewlett thinks you’ve run away. Don’t forget that you’re still being used as leverage against Abe.”

Mary smiled and they said their goodbyes. And Molly watched her friend walk back in the direction of Whitehall.

* * *

When Molly returned to the tavern, it was still midday, so Mr. DeJong was working to cover her shift while she went to Whitehall.

“Letter arrived for you.” He said fishing a note out of his apron pocket.

Molly’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“For me?”

She never received mail. She shrugged and tore into the note. She whispered a curse word and her breath caught in her throat when she saw who it was from. The letter read:

_Ms. Strong,_

_I am writing to you because I was dissatisfied by how last we parted. Truth be told, I have been thinking of you often. The knowledge that you are at the tavern alone, both living and working... It troubles me. I asked you once if I could write to you, and you gave your consent. I know our former correspondence was done so professionally; our personal matters were never disclosed._

_But I write to you now for your sake as well as my own. The hunt for Mr. Culper is proving to be far more difficult than my men and I anticipated. Although we are to remain on Long Island, we have no clue as to when we will return to Setauket. If you do not find it inappropriate, I am interested in corresponding with you during this time; it would ease my nerves. However, if you are uncomfortable with this proposal, please know that I understand. I will not be offended by a lack of response._

_Loyally yours, John Graves Simcoe_

Her eyes darted to the date at the top of the letter, praying that it must be some mistake. Perhaps a letter lost in the mail? But this letter was dated only a few days earlier.

 _Shit_. She thought. _He’s alive._

* * *

Molly told no one of the letter. She didn’t want to be the one to break the news to anyone. After all, Anna and Hewlett would be gone soon. And Abe would be safe to move back into Whitehall. And with Thomas returned home, the Judge would forget about his anger towards Abe. And things would carry on as usual. _It’s going to be fine. Right?_ Molly kept asking herself.

The letter she received was brief, but she was intrigued by his words. It seemed that her original plan, the one she had hardly been able to put into effect, had worked. It seemed that Simcoe did truly believe that they were allies. And they were good enough allies that he was willing to write to her. _And possibly say something he shouldn’t._ She thought. She was still debating what to do, and she ended up deciding to wait to do anything until after the wedding was over and done with. If she did need to flee Setauket, it made no sense for her to pursue Simcoe’s friendship. The wedding was scheduled to take place within a week. She could wait until then.

* * *

“…in holy matrimony.”

The minister’s voice echoed through the parlor. They were in the middle of the wedding.

Hewlett had decided to have a ceremony at Whitehall. The only people in attendance were a couple soldiers and a couple of the wealthier townspeople. They were all gathered in the parlor, with a minister from the neighboring town leading the ceremony.

Molly stood beside Mary. She had been holding her friend’s hand for the duration of their time here. She was terrified. As was Anna. Neither of them knew if Judge Woodhull would act upon the information Abe had certainly told him.

The minister continued, “If any man can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together, then let him now speak or forever hold his peace.”

Not a beat passed before Richard Woodhull’s voice pierced through the air.

“I object.”

Molly cursed under her breath, and Mary squeezed her hand reassuringly. She could hear the murmurs from the attendees around them.

“What?” Hewlett asked. He was in disbelief.

The Judge explained, “As a friend I've tried to hold my tongue, but as a magistrate I can no longer allow this marriage to proceed.”

“No, no, Richard, you've gone too far this time.” Hewlett snapped. He addressed one of the soldiers in the room, “Captain, take this man and put him in the bloody stockades!”

“Hear me out,” Judge Woodhull remained calm, and Molly hated him for that, “and you may wish to put your bride there instead. The divorce papers she submitted from Connecticut are false. She forged the signatures and I have taxation records from Selah Strong to prove it. Please, you are welcome to examine them. So... if we let this marriage proceed now, the only result will be the sin and the crime of bigamy.”

The murmurs grew louder.

“Do you deny it, Mrs. Strong?” Judge Woodhull sneered.

“It is a forgery.” Anna agreed.

Molly’s eyes widened in surprise. _What is she doing?_

“And he made me do it.” Anna took a step away from Hewlett and raised a finger to point at him.

“What?” Judge Woodhull sputtered.

“I have no home, no husband, and he promised to take care of me.” Anna was close to tears. “He convinced me to lie and said no one would notice.”

“Is that a fact? Major Hewlett, is this true?

Hewlett did not hesitate with his reply. “Yes.”

The crowd gasped.

“Forgive me.” He added quietly. And with that, he exited the room.

Anna exited the room not long after that, and Molly rushed after her. Anna pulled her into a spare closet.

“What was that?” Molly asked in disbelief. “He lied for you.”

“I know.”

Anna sounded as if she was in disbelief as well. She started crying; she never cried. Molly didn’t like when people cried. It made her uncomfortable. She never knew what to say.

“What are… W-What do you think–” Molly stammered.

Anna stopped her, “I’m leaving Setauket.”

“Why?” Molly exclaimed.

“I don’t know why he did that. But he did. He saved me and incriminated himself in the process. How can I ever face him again?” Molly didn’t say anything more, so Anna continued, “I have to leave. After all that happened with Edmund, and with Abe… There’s nothing here for me now. You were right about one thing: I did jump from that whaleboat because I didn’t want to leave Abe behind. But now… he’s not the same man he used to be.”

A beat.

“I’ve given enough for this ring.” Anna wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, “Abe and you like to act as if you are the only two that have taken a life. But you weren’t the only one to kill a Ranger that night. I killed Tanner.”

Molly felt herself blush. She remembered the conversation she had with Anna about that. Although that was only a few months ago, it felt like a lifetime ago.

“Where will you go?” she asked quietly.

“I suppose to wherever Caleb and Benjamin are. To Washington’s camp. But not to Selah.”

Molly put a hand on her sister-in-law’s shoulder. Any animosity she had once felt was gone now. Regardless of what had happened, they were allies. They had to be, against Abe, against Judge Woodhull.

“He doesn’t know. If you went to him, he wouldn’t have to know.”

“What, and you wouldn’t tell him?”

“I wouldn’t allow Abe the satisfaction.”

Anna snorted in amusement.

“If we go together, it’ll be easier.”

Molly wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Anna–”

“Why aren’t you afraid?”

“Afraid of what?”

“Of possessing nothing. We have nothing. You have less than either of us. The redcoats and the rebels have seen to that.”

Molly knew it was true. But she didn’t want to get into all that now.

“I will go.” She replied. “ _Eventually_. But not yet.”

They began to plot. Although they didn’t know when, they knew they would go to the dead drop soon.

* * *

 _Knock, knock, knock_.

“It’s open!” the muffled voice sounded from inside.

Molly carefully opened the door to Major Hewlett’s room. He was inside, organizing items on his desk.

“Oh, Ms. Strong. Come here to gloat?” he asked bitterly.

She blushed with embarrassment. “Of course not.”

“No, well, I suppose you knew as well. You’d recognize your brother’s own hand.”

He continued to move around the room. The more he did, she realized he was packing. For what, she was unsure.

“I never saw the papers.”

And that was the truth. She had guessed Anna’s plan without even seeing the forgeries. He continued to pack in silence, making no move to say anything more.

“You’re a good man.” Molly spoke up. “What you did down there… You didn’t have to do that. But you saved Anna’s reputation.”

Hewlett hummed and shrugged his shoulders, “And stained my own in the process.”

“Aye. Like I said, you’re a good man… You really did love her.”

He did not respond, but he also didn’t deny it. And she knew it was true.

“Where will you go?” she asked after a moment. She knew what this was about. There was no way he could continue to serve here. He was right: His reputation was stained.

“I plan to write to General Clinton informing him of my resignation and my request to be discharged back to England.” He sounded calmer as he said this, “Captain Wakefield will be made the new commanding officer. Perhaps he will be chosen to replace me entirely.” He inhaled deeply. “I am done with the colonies. I do not understand them and perhaps never will. But I do know that I have nothing left to stay for. I had hoped to embrace this new world, but it seems the romance, as always, was one-sided.” He shrugged again. “Whatever may happen, the war has not been kind to either of us. I wish you luck, Molly.”

“I know it is no consolation for what happened, but I am glad to have known you Edmund.”

The comment made him smile, and she was glad she could do at least that much for him.

* * *

A week later, she and Anna snuck away to the dead drop. They didn’t give Caleb warning, but Anna knew when he would be stopping by. They were both waiting for him when he arrived in his whaleboat.

“Well, look what I have waiting for me here?” he chuckled stepping on shore. “Two lovely Strong ladies.” He pulled both of them into a brief hug and then stood there, with one of his arms flung over Molly’s shoulders, planted a kiss on her cheek for good measure. His beard had grown back since last time they saw him, and his hair tickled Molly’s face. “What can I do for you two?”

Anna smirked, “You said you’ve always got room for one more.”

“Aye, _two_ more in fact. Are we all going?” he sounded excited.

“Not yet.” Molly replied.

Anna nodded. “Just me for now.”

Caleb shifted slightly on her feet. His joyful expression had faded.

“Listen, Moll, you might change your mind.” He paused before admitting, “Simcoe’s alive. I missed my shot.”

 _I know_. She wanted to say, but she decided not to.

“He’s alive?” Anna gasped. She swore. “Come on, Molly, that should be sign enough. Come with us.”

Molly chewed on her bottom lip, shaking her head.

“No. Not yet.” She said stubbornly.

Caleb moved and quickly helped Anna get her bag into the boat. Then he walked back over to where Molly was.

“I’m sorry I’ve not written.” She said.

“Ah, don’t think too much of it.” He shrugged, “We’ve not written much either. The only person we’ve been getting any information from is Townsend.”

 _The only person?_ She thought. That’s when she knew that Abe was keeping more secrets from her. He hadn’t gotten any useful information either. He was just playing courier for their man in New York.

“How are you?” she asked.

He grinned and that made her grin too, “Same as I always am.”

“How is _he_?”

“Don’t know. Been awhile since I’ve last seen him… We moved camps by the way. I’ll be taking Annie there with me to Middlebrook, New Jersey. So, if you feel a hankering to come visit…”

She gave him a playful shove, but then her tone became serious.

“When you do see him, tell him I have an idea. I think I know how we can get information about John Andre.”

“Shite.” He breathed. “How are you gonna manage that?”

“Like I said, I have an idea. And I’m not sure if it’ll work. That’s why I can’t leave yet.”

“Right, right.”

“And I can’t write reports like I used to. The old system won’t work now. I’ll only write when I have something.”

“So what? I’ll need to visit here more often?” he teased.

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“You know, it’s times like these that I wish they hadn’t taken your brother’s house. I could be staying in your ol’ barn, we could be telling ghost stories till the sun rose. Like ol’ times.”

She rolled her eyes and the reaction made him laugh aloud. Hearing him laugh so much made her feel sad all of a sudden. She had missed him terribly. She missed Ben terribly as well, but she missed him and Caleb in different ways.

Anna joined them again. “Hey, will you do one last thing for me?” she asked.

Molly nodded.

“Give this to Abe.” She produced a note from the pockets of her skirts and handed it over. Molly nodded again and took the note.

“Good luck.”

“You too.”

They stood there briefly before they pulled one another into a hug. Both were grateful they were parting ways like this; as allies. Anna went back to the boat, and Caleb pulled Molly into another hug, and she squealed in delight as he lifted her off her feet briefly before returning her to the ground.

“You take care of yourself, all right?” he said, holding her at arms’ length.

“Shouldn’t I be the one telling you that?”

“See ya, Molly.”

“Bye, Caleb.”

Molly stood at the edge of the cove and watched them row away until they were nearly out of sight. Then she turned back to the woods and began walking in the direction of Abe’s farmhouse.

The windows were still illuminated by the small hearth when she arrived. Neither of them said a word when he opened the door to the shack. She handed him the letter and he quickly skimmed over its contents. His expression change in an instant. And then he was throwing the letter to the floor, and he pushed passed her, running in the direction of the woods. She didn’t think much of it. She knew Anna hadn’t told him she was leaving. He was probably still hoping he could see her before she left.

Molly stepped into the shack. Thomas was asleep in the cot, and she decided to stay with him until Abe returned. She picked up the letter from the floor, and although she knew she shouldn’t. she read it too. It read:

_Dear Abraham,_

_It appears you now have all that you want or need, a clear path to continue your work for Washington. I, however, have lost everything else. I have no home, no husband, no man to love or to love me... no reason to stay in this place I've known all my life. I can at least tell myself that I've saved a decent man from being the next casualty of your mission, though at the cost of his hope and happiness. You drove me to befriend him, Abraham. And when I did, you made me pay for it. And for that, I'm not sure I can ever forgive you._ _In some ways, I fear the man I once gave my heart to is gone for good. Maybe one day love, even if now curdled into bitterness and jealousy, will find you again. And if it does, then perhaps there is still a hope that this war that has already cost us so much... will not have cost us everything._

_Sincerely, Anna_

* * *

It was the early hours of the morning when Molly finally returned to her room at the tavern. She wasn’t tired though. Although things were different, Anna and Hewlett were both gone now. So, she sat down at her writing desk, and began to plot. _Abe’s not getting any information. He’s just playing courier for Townsend. Our man in New York. No one is getting information from here. And who knows what type of information he’s getting. But me. I can get information directly on John Andre._ In that moment, she was glad that Caleb missed his shot. Because she began to write:

_Captain Simcoe,_

_I was touched to receive your correspondence. Of course, I grant you permission to write further to me. In fact, I look forward to it…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why doesn’t Molly have a nervous breakdown like in the original fic? Here’s my reasoning: In the original fic, a lot of shit hits the fan all at once. Within the span of roughly 2ish weeks, Molly kills MacInnis, quits her job, moves into Whitehall, is confronted by Judge Woodhull, learns about how involved Mary is, is accused by Mary and Richard that she was the one who recruited Abe, is involved with the whole plot to kill Eastin, meets Robert Rogers, and also learns about a ton of other instances where she's been completely excluded from crucial information related to the ring. So, in the original fic, Molly did feel as if her entire world was collapsing on her.
> 
> However, in this timeline, Molly decided not to move to Whitehall or quit her job. Which means that she spent quite a lot of time alone, working, keeping herself occupied. So, she was able to compose herself/have the proper time grieve and come to terms with what she did. Also, working at the tavern means that she totally avoided all the drama at Whitehall. Even though she learns all the same information as in the original fic, she learned things in the span of 4-5ish months (so, in a more timely/manageable manner).
> 
> So, although there is no nervous breakdown in this timeline, Molly is totally still an unreliable narrator. At this point in this fic, she thinks she’s cleverer than everyone else. So, we'll see what happens with that.


	6. 3x05

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may or may not be a Simcoe POV in this chapter 👀 Feedback on that section is greatly appreciated bc he is extremely difficult to write, and I really want to nail his POV at some point.

Molly swore aloud and crumpled up another piece of parchment, hurling it across the room. She let out a frustrated sigh and buried her head into her arms that were still propped up on the writing desk. _I’m losing my mind._ She thought fleetingly.

It was the middle of the night, and there she was, still very much awake, in her room at the tavern, sitting at her writing desk in her shift, with a single candle burning beside her. She sniffled, sitting up straight again and ran a hand through her loose hair. She briefly stretched and then looked back down at the surviving parchment before her. All there was were fragments of letters. She had begun writing again and again, but each time, she had forgotten her words, and it came to the point where her quill would just freeze. And as the ink began to pool on that single part of the page, she would suddenly doubt herself, and then start cursing all over again.

But she refused to abandon he project now. She had already been procrastinating this task. It had been two weeks since Anna had fled Setauket with Caleb. It had been two weeks since she had written to Simcoe encouraging him to write to her further. But it had also been two weeks without a response from him.

She knew she needed to be smart about this. If she was going to have any luck uncovering information, she needed to resume the friendship they had initiated all those months ago. But the problem was, she didn’t know what to say. Personally, she found her loyalist cover to be quite dull. All she did was work and visit Mary occasionally. As for hobbies, she didn’t have time for any. DeJong was still having her work around the clock. All she ever did was the occasional embroidery when she went to see Mary, and she gained no pleasure from that activity. There was nothing else to say.

She let out another sigh as she reached across the desk to where Simcoe’s letter was. She had read over his letter dozens of times. But the message was brief. It had not been written expecting a response. Even now as her eyes scanned over his words, she was still at a loss.

 _This is pointless_. She told herself. _How am I supposed to write to him? I hardly know a thing about him. I can’t exactly inquire as to what his interests are… He’s hunting for traitors for God’s sake!_ Although she hadn’t written to him in months, she momentarily thought, _Why was it always so much easier writing to Ben?_

She straightened up in her chair slightly, her eyes looking ahead, passed the letter now. An idea was forming in her mind.

 _Why_ was _it always so much easier writing to Ben?_ She thought again. She bit her lip, a faint smile tugging on her lips. “Because Ben always loves a good bit of gossip.” She whispered aloud.

That’s when she realized, it was foolish to expect Simcoe to write to her and clumsily reveal some significant detail about the war when she and he hardly knew one another. Only those closest to Ben knew how much he enjoyed gossip; before they were engaged, she had assumed he had outgrown that interest. Perhaps the same applied to Simcoe?

She looked down at his letter once more, reading over it carefully. This time, a line jumped out at her: _The knowledge that you are at the tavern alone, both living and working… It troubles me._

He had no idea how truly alone she was now. Simcoe didn’t yet know about the engagement fiasco. He had left before even Molly had learned that information.

She fumbled with the papers and pushed the fragments aside, grabbing a new sheet and dipping the quill in ink once more. She began a new letter,

_Captain,_

_I am uncertain which of my communications will reach you first, but I have news that I know you deserve to hear now rather than delayed. In your absence, several strange occurrences took place in Setauket. To begin, Major Hewlett and my sister-in-law Anna Strong, received a correspondence which they believed to be from my brother. He seemingly filed for divorce. With this development, the Major and Anna planned to be married. But things did not go as they had planned, and now Major Hewlett has resigned his commission, and Anna has fled across the lines into rebel territory, and I fear I have lost her forever. The scandal follows a such…_

Exactly five days later, she received a response.

The summer of 1778 was the summer they exchanged messages. Their correspondences were thusly:

_Ms. Strong,_

_I was disheartened to read your letter. I must admit, I am surprised Anna Strong remained in town as long as she did. However, I now grow more disturbed by_ your _position in town. Are you still staying at your brother’s former tavern? Has your reputation unfairly suffered because of this development?_

_Captain,_

_I appreciate your concern. All I can say on the matter is that reputation is no worse than it usually is. If it’s any consolation, things are normal enough that I have taken again to visiting Whitehall to see Mary Woodhull. As for any trouble I am receiving, the only man I need be wary of is the Magistrate. I do not know if we ever discussed this matter, but Mr. Woodhull is not fond of me…_

_Madam,_

_We have not discussed the matter, and now I am intrigued. Why would a man such as the Magistrate dislike you so? He is a man supposed to stand for justice. If anyone has been treated unjustly in your town, it is you, what with your adamancy to remain loyal while all your family and acquaintances deserted you and you left to face the consequences._ _Perhaps we have never discussed matters such as this before because I am so blame. I will admit to that much. Your message led to me contemplating the times when we have communicated together, and I fear it is my fault for being the poor conversationalist. I often pester you when you are preoccupied, and when I do speak, it is often of politics or the war: the two most tedious topics of our day. In these letters, perhaps I can correct those previous errors…_

_Captain,_

_…You now have me contemplating our past interactions as well. And I must concur. The topics have been heavy indeed, but I have not minded all of them… Do you yet have a date upon which you will return? You have been gone for nearly two months. I trust your search for this Mr. Culper is going well…_

_Ms. Strong,_

_I fear that I must bade you poor news. But I will write to issue you a warning. We discovered who the mysterious Mr. Culper was. It was a pseudonym for none other than my predecessor Robert Rogers…_

_Captain,_

_…Your predecessor? Why would he betray the Crown?..._

_With cordiality, Molly Strong_

_Madam,_

_His motivations do not interest me. However, knowing his character, I suspect that he may have been a turncoat far longer than we could’ve ever suspected. Know that our time is nearly done searching the island. We will be returning to your home soon._

_Affectionately yours, John Graves Simcoe_

* * *

**August 1778**

Molly could feel the Magistrate’s eyes staring daggers into her as she sipped at her coffee. She refused to turn her head, but she could tell from Mary’s expression that she was not mistaken. Mary only spoke up once he had stopped watching them.

“All right, he’s gone.”

They were both sat beside each other in the parlor of Whitehall. Mary was mending some of Thomas’ clothes, and Molly was drinking coffee, occasionally playing with Thomas whenever he ran over from his spot on the floor, with a toy soldier in hand. Molly had never been fond of coffee, but she hadn’t thought much of it when Judge Woodhull’s slave, Aberdeen, poured her a cup.

“You know, Father is making Aberdeen serve you that.” Mary commented.

Molly blew on the steaming liquid in her cup, “And why’s that?”

“He says you don’t deserve the luxury of tea.”

Molly snorted in amusement at the comment. She was not ignorant; she knew how expensive tea was nowadays. Even though the Boston Tea Party was years ago, the tea market had not fully recovered from the disruption in its market. But the Magistrate was quite wealthy from his business dealings. He could afford tea all the same.

“And how do you know it’s done purposefully?” she inquired.

Mary shrugged, “Because Aberdeen brought me a cup of tea, and you a cup of coffee.”

Molly looked at her friend’s cup and, sure enough, it was filled with tea.

“That bastard.” She breathed. She was still amused by the theatrics of it all.

“Here, switch cups with me.” Mary offered.

"Oh no. I won’t give your father-in-law the satisfaction of knowing I’m bothered by this arrangement.”

Mary scoffed, “But you don’t even like coffee.”

“I’ll learn to like it.” She began to sip at the bitter liquid.

“Well, at least add some cream and sugar.” Mary noticed that Molly hadn’t added anything to her drink. It was just straight coffee.

“I take my tea with no sugar or cream, why should this be any different?”

Mary rolled her eyes at her friends’ stubbornness, but she said no more on the matter. She went back to her stitchwork. They sat there in silence for several moments.

“How’s our friend doing?” Molly decided to ask.

They both knew she was talking about Culper Jr. Abe was still serving as courier, getting the information to the dead drop.

“He’s picking up a copy of _the Gazette_ this afternoon.”

The loyalist newspaper _the Gazette_ was the way that Culper Jr. communicated with the ring. He would leave coded advertisements in the paper, and then Abe would ride to Oyster Bay to retrieve the information. Molly was still torn on her opinion regarding the system. She didn’t like how many factors there were. It seemed overly complicated.

“You should come by the house later,” Mary added, “that way we can tell you if there’s been any news.”

Molly was the one scoffing now. “You know I can’t do that. Abe’s still cross with me.”

“It’s been months. No, he’s not.”

“He’s still upset that I didn’t give him more warning when Anna left town.”

"He didn’t deserve warning. Especially after you told me what happened.” Mary was referring to how Abe told his father that the divorce papers were forged.

In fact, Molly had hardly spoken to Abe all summer. Mary had invited her to dinner a couple of times at Whitehall, but during those evenings, Mary and Molly typically snuck off after the meal to talk. Abe and his father were both not too keen to speak with her.

As for Abe and Mary’s farmhouse, it still wasn’t completed. Abe was too stubborn to hire or ask for any extra help. So he, Mary, and Thomas were constantly moving back and forth between staying at Whitehall and staying at the shack beside the construction. Molly wasn’t too keen to be stuck in the tiny shack getting into an argument with Abe.

“Well,” Mary said after Molly hesitated to respond, “if it’s really too much trouble, just come here for dinner tomorrow night.”

Molly blinked in surprise.

“What, and Abe’s father won’t mind the short notice?” she asked.

“We’re not doing anything any differently than we normally do.”

“Still doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t like me.” Molly mumbled under her breath.

“Well, I don’t care.” Mary snapped, pushing her sewing to the side. She had Molly’s full attention now; she was surprised by the sudden outburst.

Mary continued, her voice lowered now, “You said that Abe told you about Thomas. As long as I bring him here to visit his grandfather, Richard Woodhull couldn’t give a damn about me or who I choose to spend my time with.”

“That’s some harsh language, Mrs. Woodhull.” Molly deadpanned.

Mary’s eyebrows knitted in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“ _Damn_ , I never thought I’d hear foul language from you.” Molly teased. “Especially in front of your son.”

A smile tugged on Mary’s lips, “Shut up. You’ve said worse.”

“Aye, but I’m the furthest thing from a lady. I’m a tavern wench. It’s expected.”

“Stop it.” She laughed, giving her friend a shove.

“Fine, I’ll come by tomorrow. What time?”

“Anytime after sunset I imagine.”

Molly bit the inside of her cheek, mentally making a note that she would need to discuss her schedule with Mr. DeJong.

“I can’t promise I’ll be on time.” She said.

“Doesn’t matter.” Mary picked up her sewing again and continued her work. “As long as you can get here, that’ll be enough.”

“I accept then.”

* * *

The next evening, Molly had managed to make her excuses and go to Whitehall for dinner. Mr. DeJong was covering her shift at the tavern. Her employer was a grumpy man, and he feigned annoyance at her request, but she knew he secretly reveled in it. He enjoyed conversing with the townspeople and soldiers alike, not matter what he may say to Molly.

It was after the dinner, and Abe pulled Molly to the side while Mary kept his father occupied. They spoke in hushed voices.

“Well, any word?” she asked.

“Aye, I’m heading off tomorrow for Oyster Bay.” He paused. “Listen, I know… I know we’ve not spoken much…” He paused again before switching subjects. And she knew that was as much of an apology as she was going to get. “But if you overhear anything, you know whatever you tell or give to Mary she’ll pass along to me.”

“Aye, I know. But the thing is, I haven’t heard anything. All anyone talks about is old news. In fact, the only thing they can’t seem to shut up about is that business at Monmouth.”

There was a battle there in June, and although the redcoats claimed that it was still questionable who had been victorious, the facts were that the rebels managed to hold their own. And it was the redcoats who retreated, not the Patriots.

“Well, even that’s something.” Abe shrugged, “I don’t know. I’ll add it to our friend’s report nonetheless.”

She nodded in agreement. If any news could be helpful, she would gladly pass along the duller conversations she overheard.

Abe glanced over at Mary for a moment, but she was still effectively distracting his father, so he added, “I saw Caleb last time I went to the dead drop. He said something about a plan. _You_ have a plan of some sort?”

She felt a blush rise to her cheeks, and she desperately tried to hide it.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She shook her head, trying to brush the subject aside. To be honest, she hadn’t told anyone the details related to her plan to befriend Simcoe. She hadn’t even told anyone she’d been writing to him. She knew how Abe felt about Simcoe; how they all felt about Simcoe. She doubted anyone would be supportive if they knew the truth.

“Don’t worry about it.” She replied. “It’s just an idea. Nothing’s come from it so far, so…” She decided to say the same thing Anna always used to say, “The less people who know a secret, the more secret it is.”

Abe narrowed his eyes slightly, not satisfied with her explanation. But he didn’t push the subject further. And he gestured for them to join Mary and his father once more. When they were all together again, they retired to the parlor and found seats around the room on the couches or in the armchairs. Thomas was already in there, playing with his toy soldiers on the floor, when they came in. They were the same soldiers that once belonged to Abe and his older brother. Molly remembered playing with those same toys when she was a child.

They had not been sitting there long when Thomas hurried over to her, several of the figurines held tightly in his grip. He reached up and held out one of the toys to her. She leaned down to talk with him.

“Right, and who do we have here?” she asked.

Thomas didn’t respond. He was not yet four years old, and he was still proving to be a shy child. Apparently, he only spoke to Abe and Mary, not even to his grandfather yet. But Molly knew from the way he was staring at her wide-eyed that he was wordlessly saying everything he wanted to.

“I do like this one,” she agreed, examining the figurine of an infantry footman, “but my favorite was always the dragoon.” That wasn’t true but saying so amused her because it made her think of Ben. And no one had to know what she was referencing besides herself.

Thomas tilted his head slightly, and she knew he was asking which one that was.

“The one on the horse.” She explained, handing the toy back to him.

He nodded and hurried over to his place on the floor.

“Shouldn’t that one be called a cavalry soldier?”

She blinked, looking up once more. That’s when she realized that the Judge was staring at her.

“Dragoon, cavalryman.” She shrugged. She knew the real difference between the two. A dragoon was an infantryman who periodically used horses, but main fought on foot. A cavalryman did all his fighting from horseback. But did the Magistrate really expect her to explain that to a three-year-old boy? “Either name will do. They’re just toy soldiers, after all.”

Like his son, the Judge narrowed his eyes slightly, not satisfied with her answer. But he didn’t question her further.

* * *

Molly walked down the stairs that led to the kitchens and the slaves’ quarters of Whitehall. Mary said that it was getting late for Thomas, and Molly volunteered to fetch Aberdeen so she could get him to bed. Molly hadn’t been in this section of the estate for years.

When she was a child, sometimes she and Abe or she and Caleb would sneak away and hide in the kitchens. The slaves working down there would always give them treats or help them find a good hiding spot if they were playing hide-and-seek. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw that the kitchen was no different than it usually was. It was still organized in the same manner. She caught sight of Aberdeen sitting at one of the tables with several other slaves. They were talking amongst themselves as they ate their evening meal.

One of the men noticed her and pushed himself to his feet.

“Ma’am.” He said, and Molly cringed as the entire table scrambled to get to their feet as well.

“No, no, please. Don’t mind me.” The atmosphere relaxed slightly, and Molly let out a sigh. She always felt awkward interacting with other families’ slaves. Although she had known a lot of these people a long time, it still didn’t sit right with her. “Aberdeen,” she turned to address the young woman, “I was told to fetch you. It’s Thomas’ bedtime.”

“Of course, Miss.” She shot a look to her companions before rising to her feet and following Molly back up the staircase. When they reached the top of the steps, Molly reached for the door, but she startled when the door swung open and there stood Richard Woodhull

“Mr. Woodhull.” She greeted awkwardly.

She was still stood on the top step, and he was making no move to step aside and let her pass. She was forced to look up at him.

“I want you to stay away from my grandson.”

“Sorry?” she stammered. She didn’t know where this was coming from.

“I trust Mary to be a good influence on him. But _you_? The last thing I need is for him to be raised believing it to be normal that his mother enjoys the company of the local tavern wench.”

Her expression matched his; they were both glaring at each other now.

“You can’t force me to stay away from Mary.”

“No, but my grandson is the next best thing. You’ve already corrupted one of my sons, don’t do the same to my grandson.”

She scoffed bitterly.

“Do you hear the words that exit your mouth sometimes? You are a fool.”

That’s when he slapped her across the face. She gasped, stumbling slightly as she put a hand to her throbbing cheek. She felt Aberdeen put her hands on her back. If the woman was not there to steady her, Molly was uncertain if she would’ve regained her balance. She was in shock. He had slapped her… actually slapped her. She remembered the way the Judge used to slap her hand when she was a child. But that was only if she was caught causing trouble. She never knew him to react so violently, until now. She whipped her head around so that she was facing him again.

He lowered his voice again and practically growled, “Although I have no evidence against you, do not mistake my tolerance for ignorance. I am still searching for some evidence that will prove your treasonous nature. And I will see you hanged, just like your brother and your blasted fiancé should have been as well.” He straightened himself, looking passed her. “Come along, Aberdeen.”

Aberdeen slipped passed Molly, shooting her a concerned look as she joined the Judge and walked with him to the parlor. Molly remained at the top step for several seconds, rubbing her cheek. It was still burning. Finally, she composed herself enough to walk back into the parlor. She didn’t care that the rest of them were already in the midst of a conversation. She spoke up.

“I best be off. As always, I’m opening the tavern tomorrow.”

“But it’s still early.” Mary protested.

Molly shrugged, unsure what would be a more appropriate lie, so she turned and began to move towards the front door.

“Good night!”

Abe and his father both said their goodbyes, but Mary hurried to her feet and joined Molly by the front door.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Molly shrugged. “Just a bit tired.”

She was pulling her cloak around herself, trying to hide half of her face from her friend. She was uncertain if her cheek was still red from the slap.

“Did he say something to you?”

Molly refused to answer, and Mary knew it was true. She didn’t say any more though.

“Good night. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Good night.”

* * *

The next morning, Molly very nearly wanted to strangle the redcoat sitting in the chair beside her.

 _What kind of pig drinks himself sick before the hours of morning are up?_ She internally ranted. _And when he does finally vomit, he hasn’t the decency to apologize? And now he is still sat in his chair, continuing to fill his emptied stomach with more ale. The bastard has ale dribbled down the front of his red coat, and his boots are covered in his sick, and he acts as if it is my job to clean those as well…_

She had been doing this a lot more. Ranting to herself as she worked. She didn’t realize how often she and Anna would make jokes or provide brief commentaries on the customers in the tavern. But now it had nearly been three months since Anna resigned her position. And although they had had their disagreements, it was in moments like these that Molly missed her company.

Once the vomit was effectively mopped up, Molly took her rag and bucket and exited the tavern. She went to the water pump and tried to clean the sick off her hands as best she could. She wrinkled her nose disappointedly. It didn’t seem to matter how much she scrubbed her skin raw; she could still smell the dried vomit on herself. She needed a warm bath, not a brief wash with a water pump; despite the humid summer air, the water was freezing.

She had moved on to rinsing out the bucket and wringing out the rag when the sound of horses neighing caught her attention. She glanced up briefly only to witness a sea of green entering town once more. It was the Queen’s Rangers. Most of the men seemed to be under orders to proceed elsewhere because the only horse that approached her was the one steered by Captain Simcoe himself. He dismounted quickly enough and closed the space between them.

“Welcome back.” She had to squint her eyes slightly in the sunlight.

“Thank you.”

“I suppose you would like your old room made up again?”

“In fact, that was what I came by to talk to you about… No.”

Her expression fell.

“While several of my men will continue staying here, I will be taking up residence at Whitehall.”

She wanted to curse. This was not what she expected. It would interfere with her plans to talk with him. If he stayed at Whitehall, then he wouldn’t frequent the tavern like he used to. She narrowed her eyes slightly, trying to size him up. But she was at a loss.

“So, I suppose this means I won’t see you around the tavern.” She commented.

“I still plan to pay you visits, but yes. I will not be present as frequently as I used to be.” He paused.

She couldn’t help but notice how stiff he was acting. Something was wrong. She considered if she had said something out of line in one of her letters, but she brushed the thought aside. This behavior was not in response to her.

He added, “I also wished to issue you a warning. You remember what I told you? About Robert Rogers?”

“Aye. He’s this Mr. Culper you’ve been looking for. Whatever came of that?”

“No luck, I’m afraid. We decided to return because we fear he may choose this town as his next victim. Regardless if he is armed, he is dangerous. We do not know if or when he will make his move.”

A beat.

“What happened?” her voice had gone quiet. “What happened at Rocky Point?”

Although she was grateful that he had not discovered Caleb at the ambush or Abe’s identity as Culper, she was curious now: Why did he think that Rogers was Culper?

“He attacked us.”

“Rogers?”

“Yes.”

“How did he manage that? He didn’t know you were coming.”

He opened his mouth to say more, but then he stopped himself and looked away briefly. She knew she had asked too much.

She let out a sigh and tried to replace it with a pleasant smile. “Ignore me. Why don’t I get you a drink?”

“Thank you… but I am afraid I haven’t the time. I’ve things to attend to.”

“Of course.”

“Good day, Ms. Strong.”

“Sir.”

He hardly gave her time to say her goodbyes, and then he was back to his horse, and riding off once more. She began to chew on the inside of her cheek as she watched him ride away. Something was wrong.

* * *

That evening, she made her excuses and began to walk in the direction of Whitehall. She had not gotten to Abe and Mary’s farmhouse when she was met with a visitor traveling in the opposite direction as she. It was Mary Woodhull. The two women quickly closed the space between them. Mary held her friend at arms’ length.

“I was just coming to see you.” The younger woman began.

“What’s happened?” Molly asked.

“Simcoe’s returned.”

“Aye. He came to see me earlier. He wasn’t himself though.”

“I need your help.”

Molly’s face scrunched in confusion.

“What?”

“I need your help.” Mary repeated, and that’s when Molly realized that her friend was close to tears. “As soon as I knew Simcoe was back, I went to see Abe’s father. I begged him not to tell Simcoe the same thing he told Hewlett.”

 _That Abe is a spy._ Molly’s expression fell. She had assumed they were done with this business. But the more she thought about how cross Judge Woodhull had been recently… she realized she could be mistaken. Mary went on,

“He’s taken Thomas.”

“Who? Simcoe?” Molly asked in disbelief.

“No. My father-in-law. _He_ agreed not to say anything if _I_ agreed to leave Thomas in his care.”

Molly couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“H-He can’t do that!”

“Well, he did.”

“What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know. Abe doesn’t return from Oyster Bay until tonight. I suppose we won’t be doing anything until then.”

Molly swore.

“Will you come over tomorrow?”

Molly raised her eyebrows, “Where? Whitehall?”

Mary nodded. The prospect of the offer made Molly chuckle.

“Oh no. I’ll do no such thing. The last person your father-in-law wishes to see is me.”

Mary tightened her grip on Molly’s arm, “Molly, please. Now that Simcoe’s returned, I’ll now be forced to endure evening with _him_ as well as Abe’s father. If I invite you over more often, then I’ll be allowed to sneak away and avoid conversing with them.”

Molly quietly scoffed and looked away for a moment. She didn’t want to do this. But she understood the awkwardness Mary was trying to avoid. She understood and that’s why Molly couldn’t stop herself when she responded.

“Fine.”

Mary smiled, “Thank you.” She loosened her grip on her friend. “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Molly sighed in frustration.

“If this is going to become a regular occurrence…” She felt awkward for asking. “Do I need to bring anything?”

Mary gasped a laugh. “You have nothing to bring.”

“Oh, thank you.” Molly deadpanned. “Thank you for reminding me.”

Mary was still smiling when she released her friend.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Molly wordlessly agreed and then the women went their separate ways. Until tomorrow.

* * *

One of the redcoats gave Molly a ride the next day. The man refused to drive the carriage onto the Whitehall property though.

“Why are we stopping?” she asked.

“Won’t go any further.”

“And why not?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. This is where we must part ways… Good luck.”

When she stepped out the carriage and began to walk to the front entrance of the estate, she realized the reason behind the redcoat’s strange behavior. Now that Hewlett was gone, and now that Simcoe had taken up residence at Whitehall, the sentries no longer wore red coats; their coats were green; the Rangers.

She silently cursed herself. When she accepted Mary’s invitation here, the Rangers had been an afterthought. She assumed they would not be around the estate during the day and that she and Mary would be free to converse without prying ears.

She recognized the two sentries when she arrived at the porch. She knew them from the tavern. She stood there awkwardly, waiting for them to grant her access inside. But neither man motioned to open the door; they just stood there, eyeing her. The longer they stared, the more uncomfortable she became. Finally, one of the men spoke up.

“If you’ve come to see Captain Simcoe, he ain’t here. He’s out with the rest of our unit.”

“Mrs. Woodhull invited me.” She explained. “I’m to stay for the evening.”

Even with that explanation, it still took the two men a few moments of consideration before they stepped aside and let her climb the steps. When the finally stepped inside Whitehall and when the doors were closed behind her, she released the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

She hated how nervous she always was around the Rangers. It was different at the tavern. There she could move about as she pleased, but she was not an employee here, she was a guest, and that meant conversing with any of the Rangers was a very real possibility. She couldn’t make excuses and run off like she usually did.

She had only been standing there a few seconds when she heard a noise at the top of the staircase, and she looked up.

“There you are.” Mary was hurrying down the stairs with Thomas in her arms. Molly’s expression softened upon seeing them. “Listen, I need to run a quick errand. Can you look after Thomas?”

Molly pouted but didn’t protest. She was aware that the invitation here had been last minute. She wasn’t surprised that Mary had other obligations. “Of course. But what’s wrong with Aberdeen? Maybe I could run the errand with you.” She offered.

“No. She’s busy with another chore. I’m sorry to do this to you–”

“It’s no trouble.”

Mary placed Thomas on the ground beside her friend and Thomas gazed up at Molly.

“At least warn me,” Molly lowered her voice, “what’s become of Abe’s father?”

“He’s in his room. Hiding from our favorite Captain of the Queen’s Rangers. He can’t stand the fact that he’s staying here.”

Molly smirked, glad to hear that the Judge was uncomfortable as well.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Mary promised. And with that, she slipped out of the front door. Molly stood there for a second becoming used to the quiet surrounding them. Then she looked down at the boy stood beside her.

“Well, looks like it’s just you and me.” She said.

Thomas looked up at her again. She studied his expression for a moment. Although she had known him since he was an infant, she had never been left alone with him. In fact, she hadn’t been left alone with a child in years; probably not since she herself was also a child. The more she thought about it, she really didn’t know anything about children.

“Come on then.” She said. She could hear a hint of awkwardness in her tone. “What do you wanna do? A good game of chase in the woods? …No. I suppose I better not risk getting you hurt…” _Plus the Rangers are outside, and the last thing I want is for them to bother us_. “I don’t suppose you know how to play chess?” She had always been fond of that game, but she hadn’t played in ages. “…No. Wanna learn?” Thomas continued to stare up at her. “…Of course not… All right, toy soldiers it is then. Am I right on that? Go on. Lead the way. I’ll play whatever game you want.”

Thomas nodded and began to walk into the direction of the parlor. Molly followed and was pleased to find a few of his toys spread on the floor. A few toy soldiers, a small wooden wagon, and a fabric toy dog. Thomas sat and began fiddling with his toys. She sat across from him on the ground.

“Right.” She said, picking up one of the soldiers. “Which one should I be?”

Thomas paused and narrowed his eyes slightly, but he refused to speak. She picked up another of the soldiers and pretended to have them fight, but Thomas was not amused by whatever game she was trying to play. She noticed his disinterest and let out a sigh as she placed the toys back on the ground. He continued fiddling and she sat there silently, watching him.

“You’re no fun, you know that?” She said after a few beats of silence.

Thomas’ eyes darted towards her again, but he quickly averted his gaze again.

“I guess it’s not all your fault. After all, if things were different, I know I would have had a couple of kids by now. You’d all be around the same age, in fact. And you’d have them to play with, not boring ol’ me.”

She had never said that out loud before, but every part of her knew it was true.

“Well. I can’t just sit here and do nothing now, can I?” A beat. “Wanna go to the library? We can look through every book to find all the pictures.”

Thomas paused. She had his full attention now.

“What? Do you want to?”

He nodded. Molly quickly pushed herself to her feet and helped Thomas get to his as well. He followed on her heels as she walked down the hall to where the Magistrate’s small library was. The shelves were more tightly packed than last she remembered.

“I’m sure he’s added some since I was last here.” She commented, her eyes darting at shelves spot that looked less familiar. “Do you have a preference for where we start?”

The library was arranged alphabetically by category: poetry, fiction, textbooks, political pamphlets, etc. When Thomas continued to remain silent, Molly knelt down beside him and placed her hands on his shoulders.

“Thomas, this is serious.” She said trying to keep her grin at bay. “Now your father and I used to play this game all the time. But, before we begin, remember, we must put everything back _exactly_ where we got it. If we fail to do that, your grandfather will skin the both of us. Now, do you think you’re brave enough to continue?”

He nodded and Molly felt the mischievous smile spread across her face.

* * *

Captain John Graves Simcoe arrived back at Whitehall by late afternoon. He was glad to be out of the sun, and he made his immediate heading to Judge Woodhull’s former office. After the Magistrate had behaved so strangely upon hearing that his office was to be commandeered, John knew he was hiding something. While he couldn’t immediately investigate what may be the cause of it, their interaction had been on his mind all day. But now that yet another of their hunts for Rogers had been unsuccessful, he was anxious to begin where he left off at the estate.

He removed his helmet and gloves, sloppily shoving them atop the desk, then he stepped in the exact spot he had seen the Judge standing earlier that day. He tried to place his hands on the back of the armchair in the same manner. Once he was certain he was in the right position, he looked around at his surroundings. His mind was at a blank, much as it had been this morning.

He was sure that Richard Woodhull was hiding something, but perhaps this wasn’t it? The Judge may have been sitting in the chair and he simply rose to his feet upon hearing the front door open. Or perhaps he was pacing, or already on his feet moving about the office when he paused upon hearing them enter the house? The more John contemplated it, the more frustrated he was becoming. He hastily ran a hand through his curls; they were still slightly damp from perspiration, courtesy of his helmet.

In that moment, he became aware there he was not alone. He straightened up slightly, holding his breath to listen more closely. He could hear muffled voices from across the house. He couldn’t make out who was speaking or what was being said. He tried to go over who would be in the house at this time of day. But all he could think about was perhaps the Magistrate himself, or perhaps Aberdeen, or maybe even Mary Woodhull. But that’s what was so strange about it. The muffled voice was one lone voice, and it was speaking constantly. Barely pausing for breath. So, he began to walk in the direction of the noise.

When he rounded the corner to enter the library, the last person he expected to see was Molly Strong sitting on the couch, the young Woodhull boy curled against her side. He fleetingly thought that she looked good with a child on her hip, but he pushed away the thought.

He took in the sight of the room. Beside where they were on the couch, there was a high stack of books, and there were several books strewn on the floor, opened to various pages. For some reason, all the opened books were turned to pages with illustrations.

“… _Mr. Booth was too weak to resist and too wise to complain of this usage. As soon, therefore, as he was at liberty, and declared free of the place, he summoned his philosophy, of which he had no inconsiderable share, to his assistance, and resolved to make himself as easy as possible under his present circumstances_ …” She was reading aloud, but it seemed to be more for her own benefit than anyone else’s. Even from where he was stood, John could see that the Woodhull boy was sound asleep. He saw the child’s drool creating a circular stain on the chest of Molly’s dress.

Even though he had been standing there several seconds, she still didn’t seem to notice him. And she read on, “… _Could his own thoughts indeed have suffered him a moment to forget where he was, the dispositions of the other prisoners might have induced him to believe that he had been_ …”

“What are you doing here?”

He hadn’t meant to sound so accusing, but that’s what had happened. Her breath caught in her throat and she startled at the sound of his voice, turning to look at him. She appeared to calm slightly upon realizing it was just him.

“I have the same question for you.” She snapped.

“I live here.”

He noticed a blush rise in her cheeks and he almost found it endearing.

“Mary asked me to watch after Thomas.” She explained. “She had an errand to run… I’m staying for dinner.”

He was not disheartened by the news. If anything, this was good. He knew he had been curt with her since his return. He hadn’t meant to be, but the business with the elder Mr. Woodhull was gnawing at him for the past two days. But if she was staying for dinner… he knew he would have plenty of time to make amends before the night was up.

Seeing her also reminded him of the present thought on his mind: The business with the office. His suspicions. But seeing her there, seeing her _here_ , he was suddenly reminded by the fact that she was no stranger to this home, or to this family. Unlike him or his men, she knew this town and she knew these people and she knew this house.

“Is he asleep?” John asked next.

“Aye.”

“Can he spare you a moment? I need your input.”

She nodded and carefully laid Thomas down so that he was laying on the couch. He walked back in the direction he had come from. Molly walked quietly behind him, and although he could barely hear her footsteps, he knew she was trailing behind him.

“You know this house well. Yes?” he asked once they were in the office.

“Aye.”

He stepped back to the appropriate place by the armchair.

“Here, walk into the room.” He instructed.

She narrowed her eyes slightly.

“Will you please provide me with more details?”

“Madam…”

“If you truly want my input, then I’ll need more details. You’ve hardly been in town two days, and you’ve hardly spoken a word to me. And now you expect me to blindly follow your orders? I’m not one of your men.”

He knew she was right, and he silently cursed himself for not coming to that conclusion himself. He had to admit, in his excitement, he had become carried away. He only considered for a couple of seconds, but it felt like an eternity to him. But if he expected her help, he needed to show that he was willing to trust her… even if he didn’t… even if he wasn’t sure yet.

“When I returned, I immediately came here, to Whitehall.” He began. “Ever since arriving here again, it is becoming clearer to me that Major Hewlett and Robert Rogers were in league against me and I suspect that the Magistrate knows of it.”

He noticed her expression contort in confusion, and he knew he was doing a terribly job of introducing her to his theory, but it was what it was.

“What I do not know is if it was intentional, or if he merely saw something in passing or as an active participant. However, as for myself, I cannot place Hewlett and Rogers since the investigation of Captain Joyce’s murder… If not for your letters, I am certain I would not have been able to piece together the information”

Before he could stop himself, the words had left his mouth. He did not want to be too forward with her. He had already seen the effects that had had. Doing that before had deterred Anna Strong... He could hardly look at himself the same after that complete disaster. Had he really been such a fool? To chase after a woman's affections and _lose_ to none other than Edmund Hewlett? The thought itself was sickening. Could he really be such a fool? ...And he also knew from experience that being too forward also did nothing to gain the affections of Molly Strong.

He still often thought about the kiss he had forced upon her and that thought embarrassed him deeply. That had been as forward as he had dared, and although he had been doing so to tease her, he quickly realized how mistaken he had been. She was an intelligent woman, and she may take kindly to teasing among her close companions, but not to him. He was still but a stranger to her.

“Sorry?” Her eyebrows were knitted in confusion. As for Molly herself, she was very confused by this entire matter. The lack of context was confusing enough, but she refused to ignore the fact that aiding him may be one way to strengthen their friendship. And it would be just one more way for her to get closer to learning information to send to Washington.

“You were the one to inform me of Hewlett’s departure.” He explained. “You also made the comment that the Magistrate despises you, and that is what has me suspicious… Now, when I claimed this room as my new office, Woodhull behaved strangely. Come here a moment.” He motioned for her to step further into the room and she complied. “When last I spoke to the Magistrate in this room, he was stood right here facing thusly.” He stepped forward, placing his hands on her shoulders, guiding her so that she was the one standing beside the armchair now, and he stood across from her.

A beat.

“You think he’s hiding something?” she said slowly.

He was grateful she was understanding.

“ _Something_. Of what I don’t know. You know the man better than I do. Do you think it was out of nervousness or did he stash something in this room? Something I’m not meant to see…”

She tilted her head slightly, and he could see the wheels turning in her mind. He liked the face she made when she was contemplating. With her forehead faintly scrunched, and the way she was chewing on the inside of her lips, causing them to purse slightly. He had seen it many times before.

“What?” John prompted. “You’ve thought of something. Whatever it is, tell me.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but then shook her head.

“Well, it’s just… It seems a bit silly for the Magistrate.” She said quietly.

“What?”

She let out a sigh, “Well, when we were children, Abe used to get in trouble for stashing things in the cushions. So, since I’m standing there, it means I could just reach down and…”

He stepped forward and reached down into the cushions of the armchair, and he produced a crumpled slip of paper from the cushion. He stared at the paper in disbelief. It had really been that easy. It had simply been a piece of paper all along.

“My God, you were right.” He could hear the surprise in his own voice.

“Hm, I’m surprised.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why didn’t he just stash it in his pocket?”

“Some men do not do well under pressure.” He said as he began to unfold the paper. He read its contents aloud, _“Colonel Cooke,_ _I write with utmost urgency regarding protection for our productive and beloved Setauket. Queen's Rangers have settled in the town and are in open conflict with the regulars led by the brutal and now unchecked Captain John Graves Simcoe. I warn you most solemnly that..._ It appears he was interrupted here and never got to finish.”

He was glad she was there, because he knew if he was alone then he would’ve lost his temper. He could picture himself discovering this alone and toppling over the armchair in his outrage. But she was here, and he was reminded of himself.

“It appears the Magistrate is no fonder of me than he of you.” He said trying to diffuse any tension. He’d never been good at that though, and he could tell it didn’t work this time either.

“Are you in conflict with Wakefield’s men?” she asked.

That comment bothered him. He knew what it must look like. As if he was the one causing this conflict again. He hadn’t thought about any of the townspeople’s’ reactions when he did those things against the soldiers under Hewlett’s command. He had been too preoccupied with his rage. But now, that man was gone. There was no need to engage in a war with the men now under Wakefield’s command.

“No. Not for some time now.” He replied. “Now that Hewlett is departed, I do not see us being at conflict again.”

“I…” she shrugged, “This letter doesn’t mean anything. I guarantee he only wrote it because he’s irritated by you staying here.”

“Or it means he is fearful of me staying here.” He knew how paranoid he must sound. But she couldn’t possibly understand. She hadn’t been there when Hewlett provided him with Culper’s location. She hadn’t been there when he and his men were confronted by Rogers. He had every right to be paranoid if he so wished to be. “Perhaps he thinks I will uncover something he doesn’t want revealed.”

“Perhaps… but what?”

“Perhaps he was more involved with the plot between Hewlett and Rogers than I can even begin to imagine.”

A beat.

“What are you going to do about the letter?”

He shook his head slowly. He needed more time to think. “I have all evening to decide. Come, you must get back before young Mr. Woodhull noticed your absence.”

* * *

Another hour had past and Molly was getting worried. There was still no word from Mary. Aberdeen had finished her chores and had come to collect Thomas, so that just left Molly in the company of Simcoe. They had been playing chess for the past half hour. The Judge was still hiding in his quarters upstairs.

Chess was one of the few games Molly would admit to being proficient in, so it was calming her nerves a bit. She had always enjoyed the game and it had been years since she’d last played.

When she was younger, she had always been skilled at the game. She remembered how silly her friends always were. Ben said he liked playing with her, but he had yet to beat her at a game, so he never played more than one or two rounds. Selah was always a good sport about it, but he rarely won, and he typically lost early on. Caleb always became too bored halfway through and would abandon the game, leaving Molly to play out the rest of the game by herself. As for Abe, he would always suggest that they play draughts instead, but that was only because he knew that he and Ben could always beat Molly at draughts.

She had already beaten Simcoe at the first game, and she was surprised when he agreed to a second round. He was still deciding on his turn when Aberdeen reentered the parlor to bring them more coffee.

“Aberdeen. Is Mary ever gone this late?” Molly asked. It had been over two hours since she arrived, and now the sun was setting.

“Sometimes, ma’am. She comes and goes all the time. I look after her boy all the same… Is something the matter?”

“Last I saw her, I was under the impression I was to watch Thomas for perhaps an hour. Then she would return, and we would visit. But that was hours ago. Why did she invite me here?”

“I-I don’t know, ma’am.”

“When she arrives, and if I don’t see her first, will you please let me know?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.”

Aberdeen left them to their game. Finally, Simcoe decided on his move, and Molly began to consider hers. When she reached out to move her piece, he spoke up.

“You seem well acquainted with Aberdeen.”

She glanced at him briefly, then carried on with the game. “I should be. We grew up together.”

“Pardon?”

“She’s the same age as Abe. Her mother used to run the house. And now she does.”

“What became of her mother?”

“She died. From the same fever that took my parents, and Ben’s mother…” Molly paused, realizing what she had just said. In that brief moment, everything had felt so normal, but now… she remembered herself.

“You act ashamed.” He commented, “Why? The two of you grew up together.”

“Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t change the fact that it’s a taboo subject. Everyone who chose to leave is forgotten about. At least, that’s what a lot of people would prefer.”

“Is that what you prefer?”

Her jaw tightened, and she gestured back to the board.

“It’s your turn.”

And the subject was dropped.

* * *

Dinner that evening was one of the most awkward experiences of Molly’s life. She was forced to share a table with Judge Woodhull and Captain Simcoe. The tension in the room was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. No one said more than ten words.

Molly wasn’t sure how she felt about this entire arrangement. She was no fonder of Simcoe than before, but it was strange that now the two of them had a common enemy: the Judge. And she was sure that Abe’s father felt the same way. The two people he seemed to despise the most at the moment were sharing his table with him.

Since Mary was still nowhere in sight, Molly helped Thomas with his plate. She helped cut his food when needed and made sure he didn’t dribble food down his top. As soon as Thomas announced he was full, Molly took that as her cue to finish as well. She made her excuses and brought Thomas into the parlor. As she watched him play, she kept thinking about Mary.

She knew she shouldn’t worry. Knowing her friends, after her errand, Mary probably went to see Abe, and knowing Abe, he probably had an additional strange task for the two of them to complete. Was it rude to Molly? Of course. But she was used to that sort of thing.

A few minutes after coming into the parlor, Judge Woodhull appeared in the room as well.

“You may go.” He said. “Aberdeen can see to him.”

“I understand, but… well, if you don’t mind, I would like to wait for Mary. She’s the one who invited me.”

“I’ll have one of Wakefield’s men send you word once they have returned.”

She could hear the tension in the Judge’s voice, and she knew it wasn’t worth getting into another altercation with him. She was still thinking about the way he had slapped her. If things were different, she would’ve hit him back. She nodded reluctantly and rose to her feet, moving towards the front entrance. The Magistrate was saying his goodbyes when Molly saw Simcoe enter the room.

“What is this? Are you trying to dismiss my guest?” he asked in his usual tone feigning pleasantness.

“Your guest?” the Judge scoffed.

“Ms. Strong may be here upon Mrs. Woodhull’s invitation, but now she is to remain as my guest.”

The two men looked at each other for a moment, and Molly considered cutting her losses and slipping out into the night. But she was surprised when Abe’s father said, “I am retiring for the evening.”

And with that, he began to walk up the stairs. They both watched him go up. Molly didn’t speak until he was out of sight.

“Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it. What good are allies if they do not come to one another’s defense? The enemy of my ally is my enemy as well.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly. She still wanted to be distrusting of him. She did. But now, with the discovery of the Judge’s letter, there was no denying that the two of them, despite their past and their differences, had a reason to make this alliance work.

“Have you decided what to do about the letter?” she asked again.

“I have a notion that, come this evening, the Magistrate will return to search for his letter.” A faint smirk tugged on his lips. It was a terrible smile, but in that moment, it didn’t frighten her.

* * *

It had been six hours since Molly had arrived at Whitehall. She asked one of the Rangers to send word to DeJong to explain her absence. Aberdeen had gone to bed long ago, so Molly had taken to looking after Thomas again. The boy was half asleep, curled against her side. And now they were both sat in the dark parlor across the Simcoe. Neither of them had spoken in quite some time. Molly was very close to falling asleep when Simcoe’s voice pierced through the room.

“Do you intend to stay all night?”

“I would’ve left by now. You were the one who insisted I stay.”

"Hm.”

“Are you sure he’s going to come down to search the office?” she yawned.

“I’m sure of it. After his worried display this morning, and after his brusque reaction at dinner, I know he had the contents of that letter on his mind.”

Their conversation drifted off into silence once more.

Molly dozed off not long after that, but she had hardly closed her eyes when she was startled awake by a high-pitched sound. She groggily opened her eyes and realized that Thomas was no longer beside her. She blinked through the darkness and realized that Thomas was being bounced on Simcoe’s knee. The boy was giggling. She yawned, trying to rub the sleep out of her eyes, but then Simcoe began to speak, and she knew the words were not directed at her, and she immediately awakened.

“I suppose you were looking for this.” Molly saw the Judge standing at the entrance to the parlor. He was using a candlestick to illuminate his way. “Or was it this?” Simcoe began to read from the letter as he did before, “ _Colonel Cooke, I write with utmost urgency regarding protection for our productive and beloved Setauket. Queen's Rangers have settled in the town and are in open conflict with the regulars led by the brutal and now unchecked Captain John Graves Simcoe. I warn you most solemnly that_... It appears you were interrupted here and never got to finish. Perhaps the letter is out of context. I'd hate for needless strife to be churned up by sending such a thing filled with unsubstantiated claims.”

“What is not in that letter yet is that I know that you ordered me shot.” The Judge snapped.

Molly blinked, but then all the previous memories came flooding back to her. About the trial again their neighbors, against Caleb’s uncle, and Ben’s father. And the Judge was shot, so Abe had to act as their lawyer. The memories of being cornered in the tavern cellar by Simcoe, and the way he had threatened her. Threatened her but said he was at a loss because there was no evidence against her. She had not forgotten what had happened, but things had changed since then. And although all of that had happened only a couple years back, it felt like a lifetime ago. And if she had told her younger self that she would be here now, trying to form a closer friendship with the man who had threatened her, and now forming the strangest of alliances against her friend’s father, she knew her younger self would have vomited at the thought of it. And now, in this moment, Molly was beginning to have doubts about whether any of this was worth it. If it was worth her even remaining here, keeping up this ruse. But, then again, she doubted herself all the time.

“Careful, Magistrate.” Simcoe’s tone changed as he rose to his feet. “The command to fire is an easy one in time of war. I would loathe for Setauket to lose such a wise man.”

Before she and the Judge could fully process the threat, the front door burst open and Mary and Abe Woodhull rushed inside.

“Father, we've just been robbed.” Abe was speaking quickly even though he was out of breath. “Up at the farm. Captain Simcoe, if your men make a start now, you may just catch him.” Mary’s attention was immediately on Thomas, and Simcoe easily transferred the boy from his arms to Mary’s. Abe continued, “But I warn you, please be careful. He's wounded, but he's fierce.”

“Slow down, Woodhull.” Simcoe said. “Who robbed you?”

“Well, you're not gonna believe it, but it was Robert Rogers.”

And although she could not see his face, the change in his tone of voice sent shivers up her spine. It reminded her of the tone he had used with her in the tavern cellar all those years ago.

Simcoe growled. “Which way did he run?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone cares, the book Molly is reading aloud is Amelia by Henry Fielding. Also, Draughts = Checkers


	7. 3x06

Within minutes of Abe and Mary’s arrival to Whitehall, Simcoe was out the door, shouting orders at his Rangers. Even though it was the early hours of the morning, they were going to search the area for Rogers. The Magistrate had been called outside shortly after that, so that just left Molly, Mary, and Abe in the parlor.

“What the hell happened to you two?” Molly whispered once they were alone, her voice strained. Now that the excitement had died down, she became aware of how tired she was. She had been ripped from her sleep by the altercation between Simcoe and the Magistrate, and now she wanted to return to her place on the settee.

Mary was rocking Thomas on her hip and Abe had gone over to the window, to peek at what was happening outside. Molly hadn’t noticed initially, but Abe’s forehead had been cut open, and there was still the remains of smeared blood across his face.

“It was Rogers.” He said again. His tone matched hers.

“You knew as well? About the ambush.” Mary blurted.

Molly furrowed her brow in confusion. She didn’t understand what that had to do with anything.

“What of the ambush?”

“The one at Rocky Point.” Mary still sounded tense. “You knew about it?”

“Of course I did.” She paused and took in her friend’s expression… her friend’s annoyed expression. And that’s when it came to her. “You didn’t know?” she asked. But she already knew it was true. Molly whipped her attention back to Abe. “You didn’t tell her?” she hissed.

“Wait, you thought I knew?” Mary whispered.

“Of course. I thought…” Molly let out an exasperated sigh and returned to addressing Abe. “Why didn’t you tell her?”

“She didn’t need to know.” Abe snapped, moving away from the window. “I was taking care of it.”

“Abraham!”

He shushed the both of them and then said,

“Listen, now we all know, okay? Satisfied?”

They were all stood together again, in the center of the room, in a triangle of sorts.

“I am not satisfied. I want you to promise me, no more secrets.” Mary decided.

“And no more lies.” Molly added.

They both had their eyes narrowed at Abe.

“If you want my help, you need to show that you trust me.” Mary added.

Abe looked away for a moment, chewing on the inside of his lip as he thought. But finally he abandoned his pride and nodded.

“All right. I’m sorry.” He confessed. He didn’t let either of them get in another word, because then he turned to Molly and said, “What the hell did we walk in on here? Why the hell was Simcoe holding Thomas?”

It was a good question. A detail Molly had not begun to fully process. _Why was Simcoe holding Thomas?_ Last Molly remembered, Thomas was asleep by her side. And then when she awoke… She had only woken up because Thomas was giggling. Giggling. Almost as if he was enjoying the company of the dreaded Captain.

She had no idea why Thomas had ended up in that man’s care. She doubted that Simcoe would’ve made a gesture such as picking up the boy himself; Molly would never credit him as being nurturing. She knew him. In her mind, it was out of character for him. But regardless, no matter how strange the circumstances were, they were not the most pressing. What was the most pressing was the fact that Robert Rogers had returned.

“And what were the three of you even doing down here?” Abe added

Molly internally swore. She knew she couldn’t hide all the details from the both of them, but she was still wary about telling Abe her plan. She knew him as well, and she knew how he would react. So, she decided to omit part of the truth.

“Simcoe thinks your father is involved in all this somehow.” She explained. “He believes your father was aware of Rogers and his movements on Long Island.”

Abe scoffed in disbelief, “Well, that’s just great.” He swore under his breath and turned to pace slightly.

She continued, “I have been here since this afternoon. I watched after Thomas like you asked,” she glanced at Mary, “but I have also been forced to endure the company of your father and of Simcoe. I convinced the two of them to let me remain here until you returned. I fell asleep on the settee. I only just awoke right before you two burst in.”

Abe halted his pace and next thing Molly knew he was toe-to-toe with her, a glare on his face.

“That still doesn’t explain what he was doing with my son.” He growled.

She narrowed her eyes in response. She wasn’t sure what he was trying to do, but she had the suspicion that he was trying to intimidate her. _Her_. And if circumstances were different, she may have laughed aloud and thought nothing of the entire affair. But not now. Now she saw the gesture as insulting. He was trying to intimidate her. He had proven how little he trusted her. _Her_.

She remembered how things used to be fifteen years ago, when she had come to his defense more times than either of them could count. Abe had always been short, and the other children in town had no problem teasing him for it. She remembered when she was thirteen and he was eleven. She and Samuel had been together all day when they stumbled upon Abe in the woods. He was being teased and pinned to the ground by some older boys. She remembered the way Samuel talked to them to appease the situation and get them out of there. But Molly had been so enraged by the gesture, by the fact that those boys were messing with her younger brother’s friend; when he had no means of defending himself against them… She was so enraged she lashed out and punched one of the boys so hard that she broke his nose and knocked one of his teeth loose. She remembered the beating she’d gotten from her father as punishment, but it had been worth it in her mind. It was always worth it.

And when she looked at Abe now, she didn’t see the short boy she had rescued all those years ago. He had changed, at least in her mind, and she was growing more and more tired of their strained friendship. And that was why she reached out and roughly grabbed him by the collar of his coat, and she yanked him closer to her.

“Do you hear yourself? What was I supposed to do?” she hissed, continuing to shake him.

His glare fell slightly, and he reached out as well, trying to pry her hands off him. But he couldn’t get a good grip on her, and they struggled there in the parlor.

“Molly!”

Mary’s voice sounded beside them. But they ignored her.

“Get off me!” Abe snapped under his breath.

They struggled for a moment longer and then Abe managed to find his grip and he shoved her away. Strands of her hair came loose from the scuffle and they fell in tangled curls, framing her face. And that’s when Thomas started to cry. Abe and Molly both forgot their anger and looked at the boy with concern. Mary started rocking him, and he quieted down, but it did nothing to ease Molly’s. She suddenly felt a wave of guilt pass over her; she had frightened him. She would’ve dropped the subject entirely. But then Abe made the comment,

“Are you satisfied _now_?”

And her rage returned.

“You’re the one who formed an alliance with Robert Rogers.” She said. “Not me. Not Mary… Anything that happens from this point onward is your fault.”

Abe scoffed and used the tone he always did when he pretended to have things in control, “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“ _Dramatic_?” she was the one scoffing now. And as she tested the word on her own tongue, she felt a new wave of anger rush over her. “Dramatic?” she growled. And she had begun to take another step forward to seize him again. But then a new voice pierced through the room.

“That is enough!”

All of them froze and turned to looked at Judge Woodhull. He had returned from outside, and he was standing in the doorframe to the parlor. And from where he stood, his son, his daughter-in-law, and Molly Strong all looked like children who had just been caught misbehaving. The three of them silenced at once. They didn’t know how much he had heard, but they did know that he would hear no more from them.

“What have you done, Abraham?” the Judge asked, mocking innocence.

“I’ve done nothing.” Abe retorted. “Just a misunderstanding.”

His father knew he was lying, but he decided to change subject. He was addressing Molly now.

“I want you out of my house. But Captain Simcoe has advised me to let you stay until morning. I’ve just awoken Aberdeen and asked her to make up a room for you.” He paused. “Now, I think it’s best if we all go to bed and forget about this until morning.”

Abe and Mary quickly said their goodnights and headed for the staircase. Molly was trailing behind them, but she was stopped by the Judge. He snatched her by the bicep as she passed him, and his grip was firm, his fingers digging into her skin. He waited until Abe and Mary were halfway up the stairs, then he growled under his breath,

“I thought I told you to stay away from my grandson.”

Molly struggled against him until he released her.

“You think I wanted any of this?” Her tone matched his. She was rubbing her arm now, sore from his grip. “You really think I wanted to dine with you any more than you wanted to dine with me? …It wasn’t my doing. I came to see Mary and she asked that I look after him for a short time. Why’s it suddenly _my_ fault?”

She turned to leave, but then he added.

“Do you want me to tell the Captain my suspicions?”

She scoffed bitterly and turned to face him again, “Oh please, we were both there during your performance. I doubt he’ll be eager to hear your theories now.” She felt a smirk tugging on her lips, “It seems you’ve fallen out of favor with him.”

She was relishing that fact. After all the Judge had done to her, to Selah, to Anna… Molly didn’t care if Simcoe was her enemy. Because he was not alone. Judge Woodhull was her enemy as well. And although she hadn’t considered it until now, she decided she may be much more interested in being rid of Judge Woodhull than the dreaded Captain himself.

“He’s not like Hewlett.” She added. She was referring to Simcoe. “You can’t hide behind him.”

“No, but it seems you can.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“You were sat right here with him. You were waiting for me as well. You knew of the note.”

She nodded.

“Aye.”

“And that means what? You’re in league with him now?”

She shrugged.

“I don’t know.” She admitted. And that was the truth.

A beat.

“Why are you taking up sides now? Why side with a man you know we all despise?”

Molly furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. She couldn’t believe those words were leaving the Judge’s mouth. After all he had said to her… She assumed he’d be too proud to change his stance on anything, let alone this. And after all the harsh words he had used… After he told her that he wished to see her hang… She could still remember how her had stung after he’s slapped her. And now, he was speaking words just as treasonous as the rest of them. _He such a hypocrite_. She told herself.

“It should be all of _us_ against _him_.” He added.

She laughed aloud at the comment.

“Aye, all of us against him. That’s exactly what we should’ve done when the redcoats first came to town.” She said.

The Judge rolled his eyes. “The King’s Army is not the enemy. _He_ is. You heard what he said.”

“No. Right now, my only enemy is you.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Do you want it to be?”

They stood there in silence, glaring at one another. And as Molly looked at him, she didn’t care that he was her friend’s father. She didn’t care that she had known him her entire life. She realized that she felt nothing towards him. He had proven himself to be a pest time and time again. And that’s when she decided, she hated him. They wordlessly parted ways, and Molly remained unmoving until the Judge had gotten to the top of the stairs, and she heard him shut the door to his quarters. Then she finally made her way to the stairs, to retire to the room Aberdeen had made up for her.

* * *

She had been laying on the bed for what felt like hours. In reality, she knew only perhaps an hour had passed since Abe and Mary had returned to Whitehall. Molly couldn’t sleep though. She was in a bad mood.

She was upset at Simcoe; how she had been forced to spend the day with him even though she despised him. She was bothered by Abe, by how little regard he seemed to have for herself and Mary. She was mad at the Judge; she hated him. She was also angry at herself. She couldn’t get Thomas’ cries out of her head. She hadn’t meant to frighten him, and now she worried that he might think less of her for it. She didn’t care if he was not yet four years old; after all the time they’d been together that day, she wanted to be in his good opinion.

She let out an exasperated sigh and sat up. She was tired of waiting. She was antsy. She knew she should be doing something. It was silent in the house, and as she sat there in only her shift, with her hair unpinned and falling in tangles over her shoulders, she had an impulsive thought. And she didn’t even consider the consequences. She rose to her feet and pressed herself against the bedroom door, trying to confirm her theory. But she couldn’t hear anything. So, she opened her door. She stood there completely still. She stood like this for she didn’t know how long, but finally, she decided it was long enough. There was no sound, from the hall or from downstairs.

She turned and fumbled with a few items on the desk. She grabbed two of her hairpins and put them in her hair once more. Once she’d found a candle and the tinderbox, she held them to her chest and returned to the door. Then she stepped out of the room and began padding down the hallway on the balls of her feet, praying that none of the floorboards would creak below her. They didn’t.

And then she found herself stood at the door to Hewlett’s former quarters. The same quarters she knew were now occupied by Simcoe. She pressed her ear to the door, almost to reassure herself that it was empty. It was.

She knelt down and quietly placed the tinderbox on the ground. Then she retrieved the pins from her hair, and she got to work at the lock. She only knew this trick because of Samuel Tallmadge. He taught her how to pick a lock when they were children. She wasn’t sure who he had learned from. But for being a mild-mannered boy, Samuel was always surprising her with his inventiveness. That’s why they got along.

Although it had been a long time since she’d done this, she made quick work of it. She returned the pins to her hair and the tinderbox to her arms, and she straightened up again. And she pushed the door open and she slipped into the room, closing the door behind her.

It was pitch black, but even in the darkness, she saw that one of the curtains was left open. She couldn’t light a candle without the light being seen from outside. When she went to cross the room, a gasp escaped her lips when her foot came into contact with something on the floor. She stumbled and very nearly tumbled down herself.

Once she’d composed herself, she swore under her breath. She had dropped the candle in the process. She continued whispering curses as she drew the curtains. Then she knelt down on the floor and began groping at the floorboards. After several minutes, she located the candle and lit it. She blinked at the sudden brightness as the candlelight illuminated the space around her. She was surprised at the state of the room. The room was surprisingly unkempt. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

The bed was unmade, and there were various pieces of clothing left in small heaps on the bed and on the floor. She also discovered what she’d tripped over. It was a small stack of books at the foot of the bed, although most of the stack was scattered now from where she had kicked it. She swore again and hurried to rearrange the stack. It looked like he had been borrowing several books from the Whitehall library, and she noticed that all the books were poetry collections; there was not a single novel among them. Even after the everything was restacked, she knew it was done haphazardly, and she hoped he wouldn’t noticed if one of the books was out of place.

She let out a sigh and rose to her feet once more. She was careful with her footing this time, and she stepped around the other odds and ends that were scattered about. There was a handkerchief wadded up on the floor, and there was a shirt draped over the back of the chair at the desk. But then she was at his desk, and she remembered her purpose here.

Unlike the rest of the room, the desk appeared to be immaculate. All the papers were ordered and stacked. So, she carefully began her snooping. She knew she needed to be quick, but she also knew that she probably wouldn’t get a chance to do this again. She needed to use her time wisely.

She began by skimming through a journal. It took her several minutes to understand what she was looking at, but then she quietly scoffed in amusement. The journal wasn’t filled with notes or military details, it was filled with poems. Molly noticed that most of the poems appeared unfinished and fragmented. One of them seemed to start almost midsentence, and there were plenty of blank spaces left over:

_…harsh are the words of those --- held dear,_

_Better to endure than say we are Strong._

_Thinking --- right, not --- we are wrong._

_We live, ---, --- sharpening our spear…_

She couldn’t help but noticed that the word “strong” was capitalized in all the poems, and she had a feeling it had to do with Simcoe’s infatuation with Anna. She was uncertain if those feelings were still pertinent, but she decided it was knowledge that may prove useful.

She closed the journal and moved on to the stacks of loose papers. Those proved to be more relevant. The stack was full of scouting reports. That too seemed strange to her. She couldn’t imagine any of the Rangers composing reports. They weren’t military, they were militia. But she supposed it made sense. The Rangers weren’t military, but Simcoe _used_ to be. She skimmed through the reports, but they were brief.

_Captain Simcoe,_

_Managed to reach Lieutenant O’Connell in time. Still stationed in White Plains where we left them. Awaiting your orders before making the…_

_Captain,_

_Delivered your report to Major Andre. He is delayed in sending a response. Figured it be best if you receive word from me rather be left in the dark on the matter…_

_…Major says he’s pleased to be sending men to look after Savannah…_

_…responsible for escorting Madame Savannah from her estate. I trust her information will be invaluable to the Crown…_

_…going to visit his woman Georgie…_

Molly furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. The further she got into the stack, the less sense some of the messages made. _Savannah_. She thought. _Georgie?_ She supposed the Rangers could be assigned to escort a wealthy woman, but at the same time…

“Savannah.” She whispered the name aloud. And upon hearing it, it suddenly came to her. “Savannah, Georgia.”

She knew she could be completely mistaken, but that information would have to do. Perhaps the British were planning on taking the Georgia colony next. Their presence wasn’t as strong in the Southern colonies; Molly knew that much. She decided then that she had risked being in that room for long enough.

Before she left, she decided to open one of the desk drawers. There were more papers stuffed inside, and she quickly browsed those as well. These letters weren’t reports; they appeared to be personal correspondences. One of the letters was signed by a man with the name Admiral Samuel Graves, and she couldn’t understand for the life of her why a naval officer would be in communication with Simcoe, but she made a mental note of it. And then she put everything back where she’d found it. Then she returned to the window, blew out her candle, opened the curtains just as they were before, and she slipped back into the hall and into her bedroom before she could be discovered.

* * *

Captain John Graves Simcoe arrived back to Whitehall right before dawn. The sky was lightening around him, and he felt the first waves of exhaustion wash over him when he stepped back into the estate. He didn’t bother being quiet as his boots thudded against the stairs. He was in a bad mood.

Even after riding all morning, they hadn’t seen a single sign that indicated where Robert Rogers may have fled to. And that detail combined with the memory of confronting Richard Woodhull hours earlier made him more enraged. He knew the Judge was involved in all this somehow. He had to be. He refused to give Hewlett the credit that would be needed to devise something such as this scheme. He didn’t care if Hewlett had bested him in that Patriot camp all those months back, when the insufferable man had stabbed him. That had been an exception. It had to be.

He didn’t bother being quiet as he took his keys out of his coat pocket and pushed the appropriate one into the lock. But then he couldn’t hear the sound the door made when he usually jiggled the key.

He cussed under his breath. He was exhausted and covered in a sheen of perspiration, and he knew he was in need of a bath, but that would have to wait. First he needed to get into his blasted quarters. In his frustration, he shoved his shoulder against the door, and the door swung open. It was already unlocked, and perhaps if he wasn’t so tired, that may have made him suspicious, but that morning, he didn’t care. He had left in such haste hours earlier that he was sure he had simply forgotten to lock it.

He was already undoing the buttons on his coat when he pushed into the room and locked the door behind him. He didn’t bother lighting a candle. Enough of the morning light was coming through the window and illuminating the room, or at least he thought. As soon as he crossed the room to the wardrobe, another curse escaped his lips as he tripped on something. He stumbled forward, kicking the object again for good measure. It was the stack of poetry books he had left at the foot of his bed. He had been meaning to move those, but he hadn’t gotten around to it.

He left the books where they were scattered across the floor and stepped over the couple of heaps of dirty clothing. He’d been meaning to see to those as well. He made quick work removing his coat and vest and boots and breaches. He didn’t bother properly putting away his weapons. He left them in a pile on the floor as well. He knew today was going to be just as tiresome as it had been last night. There was so much paperwork to see to already, and this business with Rogers… He just wanted it to end, like it should’ve ended at Rocky Point.

He collapsed on the bed, an audible groan escaping him. He cussed under his breath again as he readjusted. He always had to sleep at an angle in this bed. The bed was too short for him. He wouldn’t have minded if his feet dangled off the edge, but this bed made that impossible, for there was a footboard. He buried his face into the pillow, not bothering to cover himself with the blankets, and he finally let sleep take him.

* * *

Molly was awakened by the sound of someone tromping up the stairs. Ever since her snooping a few hours earlier, she had been in and out of sleep for the rest of the night. She pushed herself to her feet and peered out the window. She swore when she realized what time it was. The sun was beginning to rise.

When she had returned to her room, she quickly wrote up a message for the dead drop. She didn’t have her invisible ink anymore, and she knew it wouldn’t be safe to steal any of Abe’s, so she had gone back to how she used to write letters, just using the code. She had planned to stop by the dead drop before returning to the tavern. But that seemed impossible now. She dressed quickly, still putting the pins in her hair when she stepped out of her room.

She paused in the hallway, listening for any sounds. She could hear movement behind the door to Simcoe’s quarters, and she realized that it had been him making all that noise on the staircase. If he was back, then that meant that most of the Rangers would be back as well, guarding the house. She didn’t want to go out the front entrance. They would offer her a ride to town and then she wouldn’t have a chance to get to the dead drop for God knew how long. No, she decided that she needed to sneak out of the estate.

She quietly made her way down the staircase and then down to the slaves’ quarters. She knew there was another entrance down there, typically for deliveries. She doubted anyone would think to guard the Magistrate’s slaves. The couple of cooks were already busy in the kitchen making breakfast when she got to the bottom of the stairs.

“Ma’am.” One of the women greeted. She was confused at the sight of her.

“It anyone inquires after me, I’m going back into town.”

“Will you be needing anything?”

Molly shook her head, “No. Thank you.”

She crossed through the kitchen to the other door, and her theory proved to be correct. There wasn’t a Ranger in sight on this side of the house. And the woods were only a few hundred yards away. She quickly crossed the space, exhaling the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding when she stepped into the underbrush. And she made the trek to the dead drop.

When she’d dropped her note inside, she felt a weight lifted from her shoulders, and she took a much more leisurely stroll into town. Her message read:

_Ben,_

_I miss you, and I miss reading your words and sending you mine. Unfortunately, it is still not safe for us to continue as we did before. Make inquiries as to a relationship between the King’s Army and Savannah (possibly the town in the Georgia colony). Also, there may be a possible connection to the naval Admiral Samuel Graves. Please, I need to know if anything can come of this information. Send your response via Caleb’s lips (however, I pray you will spare him the formality of a kiss and simply send through him your words only). If you do decide to write back, do it in haste and make your note brief._

_All my love, Molly_

* * *

It was nearly a week before Molly heard word from anyone at Whitehall. And when she did hear word, it was from the person she least wanted to see: Captain Simcoe.

She was at the tavern refilling pitchers. When she turned around, there he was at the bar, waiting for her.

“Good day, Ms. Strong.” He greeted.

The feigned cheeriness was absent from his tone. He seemed to be in poor humor. And that poor humor made her decide to skip the formalities as well.

“Have you found him? Rogers?”

“No.”

Even though she wanted all this business to be over, she had been thinking about their situation a lot. If Simcoe captured Rogers, there was nothing stopping Rogers from revealing her and Abe’s true intentions. So even though she didn’t like the man, she hoped Rogers would evade capture, or be killed trying.

“He’s seemed to have evaded us once again.” Simcoe paused. “How are you?”

She shrugged and placed a mug on the bar. She was about to fill it for him, but he hovered his hand above the cup, indicating for her to stop. She glanced up at him.

“Not today.” He said.

She placed the pitcher back on the counter.

“I never properly thanked you.” He continued. “For your letters. I did appreciate receiving them.”

“It was no trouble.”

“It may not have been any trouble, but know I appreciated it nonetheless.”

A beat.

Molly still didn’t like Simcoe, but she also felt like she knew him better. She had been in his quarters. She had looked through his papers. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she may have the upper hand over him.

“Can I ask you something?” she decided to say.

He nodded.

“What Richard Woodhull said. Did you really order him to be shot?”

He hesitated to respond, but it didn’t matter. She already knew it was true. She was just curious if he would tell her. She seemed to be in his good graces the other day at Whitehall, with the business about the note. That gave her hope. Even if Abe was discovered, she knew he and Mary would never reveal her. And then, perhaps, if Simcoe remained in town, and if he did prove to trust her, or at least trust her enough to gossip with her, well, then Molly would always be an option for the ring in Setauket. She would be all right if something happened and she was the only spy left.

“And if _that’s_ true,” she continued, “then was it you _who_ framed Lucas Brewster and Nathaniel Tallmadge? …Why? Why did you do it?”

He hesitated again

“Molly!”

She jumped slightly at the sudden voice. It was DeJong from across the room.

“Fetch another barrel!”

“Right away, Mr. DeJong.” The words automatically left her lips.

She had grown to dislike Mr. DeJong even more than before. Yes, he gave her evenings off if she was invited to Whitehall, but the rest of the time… He had started working shifts to make up for the work Anna used to do, and Molly wanted to appreciate that, but the truth was, he was little help. He spent more time conversing with the customers than helping tend to the bar. And that only created more work for her. She thought briefly about how she would have to struggle to roll the barrel up the stairs. Typically, she and Anna would work to bring the barrel up together.

Her gaze fell back to Simcoe and she shrugged, moving away from the bar and their conversation. She expected him to wait there for her return, or to call that the end to their conversation entirely and leave the bar. But she was surprised when he fell into step behind her. She glanced back at him briefly, but she didn’t protest. He spoke in a hushed tone as they descended the stairs to the cellar.

“That’s a subject I’ve purposely been avoiding.”

She kept glancing back at him as he spoke, uncertain by his words.

“I’ve met him.”

“Who?”

“Your former fiancée.”

She froze. They were at the bottom of the steps and her hand was on the cellar door. But she did remember how Abe told her that Ben and Caleb had taken Simcoe prisoner at one point. With her hesitation, he continued,

“When my men were ambushed in Connecticut two years ago, I was taken prisoner by Tallmadge and your former acquaintance Caleb Brewster. They received word of the ambush through…”

“Spies?” her voice was quiet.

“Yes. Whom the spies were, I do not know. But I assumed them to be either relatives or…”

“Or people like me.” Her tone had changed. All the things she had felt when Reverend Tallmadge was arrested, and when Ben and Caleb had managed to return to town, and when she learned of Lucas Brewster’s murder, all those feelings came back. And she was reminded of her hatred for the man standing before her.

“Ms. Strong–”

She cut him off by swiftly opening the cellar door and stepping inside. She carried on speaking as she approached the barrel she knew she would have to lug up the stairs.

“But when you came back, you knew their families, their friends, were innocent, and you still placed the blame on them. Where’s the honor in that, Captain?”

They were standing on either side of the barrel.

“They tortured me.”

She blinked in response. She was taken aback,

 _Torture? No, that couldn’t_ … But then she remembered what else Abe had told her. Simcoe had escaped somehow. But escaped from what? She assumed from being a prisoner of war, but she didn’t know all the details. But if it really was torture, then that did explain why Simcoe had been so anxious to weed out any relations to them back in Setauket.

“They flattered me by believing me to know more than I did.” He continued.

Molly was trying to imagine Ben torturing anyone. But then she was reminded of what Caleb had said to her when she killed MacInnis: _“Don’t look, you’ll only make yourself sick”._ He was speaking from experience. Caleb had killed people. Ben had killed people. _She_ had killed people. MacInnis was the only one she had to face, but she was sure men had died because of the information she passed along. And now she was feeling a wave of nausea pass over her.

“Ms. Strong,” Simcoe was still talking, “while I will admit to my past errors in judgement, I will not apologize for the acts I have committed. We are at war.”

She wanted to chuckle. _We are at war._ Those words affected her more than she would like to admit. Because they were true. And she knew she had done things she was not proud of. She was a traitor to the Crown. Her position as a spy meant she was a coward; a coward who would be hanged if discovered. And she was a murderer as well; at least in MacInnis’ case. _Yet, I will not apologize either._ She thought.

When she didn’t respond, Simcoe’s voice trailed off. He looked away for a second, but then he looked down at the barrel separating them. He noticed her hands on the top rim of the barrel, and he knew there was no way she could make quick work of hauling it by herself.

“Here, allow me.” He offered, placing his hands on the barrel as well. But when he tried to move it, she refused to remove her hands.

“I can manage.” She snapped coming out of her daze.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t. But it seems a shame for one to be blinded by their pride.”

She narrowed her eyes, but she did not challenge his comment.

“I won’t have you do it for me.” She decided, “We’ll do it together.”

He nodded in agreement, and then the barrel was lifted, and they wordlessly carried it together out of the cellar and up the stairs.

* * *

She hated him. She hated _both_ of them. Simcoe. The Judge. She knew it was wrong to hate others. She could only imagine what God must think of her, for being so petty, for being so bitter. But after her conversation with Simcoe, she decided she didn’t care. Just this once, she wanted to act on her hatred. _We are at war._

So after the barrel of ale was brought upstairs, and when she had returned to her place behind the bar, she had begun to plot. Her mind was at least partially made up. If something could happen to Judge Woodhull, it would save all of them (herself, Abe, and Mary) a lot of trouble. His knowledge of their involvement in the ring would be lost with him. What made the entire idea even more appealing was that, with the Judge gone, Whitehall would be bequeathed to Abe and Mary, and they would take over Richard’s business affairs, and Abe would have more opportunities to get into York City.

But if she was going to do this, she needed to be smart about it. Far cleverer than she’d maybe ever been before. If she was to go through with this, she needed to be cautious as well. There was no room for errors. She knew she needed more time to plan, to account for all the details. However, she was decided on one thing: She was going to frame Richard Woodhull for the murder of Captain John Graves Simcoe.

* * *

**November 1778**

John was in the mood to shoot something. He was in the mood to go hunting, actually, but that wasn’t possible. He had been in a bad mood all day, and he knew the fault was mainly his own, and that only made the whole ordeal seem worse. What he was feeling was comparable to the kind of anger that stemmed from listening to someone who he didn’t care about; when their voice became more unbearable and he could feel the hints of a headache forming in the back of his head, and all it did was made him mad, with fists and jaw clenched. 

It had been three months since the Woodhulls were robbed at their farm. It had been three months and still no progress had been made on locating Rogers. Every day, he was ordering his men to scour the surrounding area. They had combed through Setauket more times than he would like to admit, and they had already begun searching in nearby areas. But with all these search parties, it also meant John was terribly behind on paperwork. On replying to scouting reports, on writing actual reports to Major Andre.

That’s why he had stopped visiting Molly Strong at the tavern. He didn’t need that detail to distract him as well. Molly Strong. He hated her; hated the way he couldn’t read her. With Woodhull, the elder and the younger, it had always seemed to simple. He knew the younger was involved in _something_ , but it only made sense if his involvement had been encouraged by his father. It seemed fitting for both of them. The same applied to Mary Woodhull. She was the loyal wife, looking out for her son. And for that, he did not fault her.

But then there was Molly Strong. She reminded him of Edmund Hewlett and Anna Strong. Both Hewlett and Anna had surprised him. They were unpredictable. What, with Hewlett gifting him that stab wound a year ago, and then surviving the harsh terrain when he was _supposed to die_. And then there was Anna Strong. He was embarrassed to admit how much he had cared for her. But she had been so unassuming; she had played the victim well. Little did anyone know that she was a serial adulteress; first with Woodhull, and then with Hewlett, and God knew how many more.

That just left Molly Strong. It had been two years since her brother’s arrest, and he still felt as if she was a stranger. Every time he learned something about her, he felt as if that information was useless. Her reputation was poor, and her former engagement to Tallmadge made her an ideal candidate to betray the Crown. Yet, she hadn’t. As for the rumors about her, they were all old news. When he spoke to townspeople such as Mrs. Scudders or the Magistrate, they all seemed bitter about how she had behaved in her youth. But he had no heard one rumor about her lashing out as of recently; not in the last decade, in fact.

Even though she had written to him, had helped him that day discover the elder Woodhull’s treachery against him, he was also certain that she still despised him. She had told him herself: _“I loathe you”._ And he knew the fault was his own. But now… As much as it annoyed him to admit, he knew she would be a good ally to have.

From what he knew about this town, social positions were not strictly enforced, and that was strange for him. He didn’t understand it. But _she_ did. She understood this town, she understood these townspeople. If anyone could discover treachery in this town, it wouldn’t be him and his Rangers; they were outsiders here. No, if anyone could find evidence of the Magistrate’s involvement with Rogers or Hewlett, it would be someone like Molly Strong.

That’s why, the day before he was to depart for Oyster Bay to lead the next search, he went to the tavern, and he sat at the bar across from Molly Strong and these words escaped his lips,

“I am in need of a confidant.”

She squinted her eyes in response.

“Pardon?” she asked.

“My men and I are to head out by the end of this evening. Check the surrounding areas to see if Rogers escaped using those routes. While I am gone, will you keep an eye on Woodhull?”

“ _Judge_ Woodhull?”

“Yes.”

He could only imagine how forward he sounded. But he didn’t care. He hadn’t spared her the formalities because he always despised how awkward she made them. No, she was more intelligent than that. He had not forgotten how she came to him, to ask that _he_ be the one to rescue Hewlett. He knew she could be strategic, and he hoped she would understand that that’s what _this_ proposal was.

“Keep an eye on him… How so?”

“You’re in an interesting position. When Mary Woodhull invites you to Whitehall, accept the invitation. Be aware of anything suspicious.”

She scoffed and the reaction made him internally cringe. He suddenly felt foolish.

“Do you expect me to snoop through cupboards?”

“Of course not. I–” His voice caught in his throat. He was trying to order his words, trying to sound… He didn’t know. “I know you have no interest in betraying your connections within this town. I merely ask as a formality because in the past you’ve proven yourself to be attentive...” A beat. “You also say that the Magistrate does not appr–”

She cut him off, “I’ll do it.”

He was the one to look taken aback now.

“Pardon?”

She placed her elbows on the bar and leaned forward, speaking so that only he could hear her, and as she spoke, he felt a sense of relief, because he had not been mistaken. She _was_ a good ally to have.

“What do you need me to look for?”

* * *

It had been two days since the Rangers had left town. Molly was better spirits were usual. Her plan was already coming together. She wasn’t sure if it was her letters or the business with the Judge’s note that did it. But the details didn’t matter. Because now she was tasked with looking for evidence against the Magistrate, and she had no problem creating evidence for herself or Simcoe to “stumble” upon.

It was late and she was trying to finish closing the tavern. She had a lantern in one hand as she went down to the cellar, to see that everything was put away. But when she stepped into the room, a voice pierced through the darkness.

“Hello, lassie.”

She gasped and turned on her heels. Hidden in the shadows beside the door was Robert Rogers.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped.

Her eyes darted around the space, trying to find some sort of weapon. She would kill him herself if she could. That would put an end to this madness.

“Don’t look so shaken.” The older man chuckled.

He walked over to one of the barrels and took a seat. As she took in more of his appearance, she realized that he was unwell. He was injured. There was a patch over one of his eyes, and she could see dried cakes of blood on his coat.

“What happened to you?” she asked.

“I’ve got my former lads to thank for this.”

She nodded, “They’re hunting for you, you know?”

“Why else to ye think I’m here. I know they’ve left town on another of their hunts.” He let out a sigh, “Now go and make like a good tavern wench and bring me some ale.”

She scowled at the comment, and she cursed at him. “F– you.”

He looked amused by her words, “Careful, lassie. I may be running, but I have no problem letting my former lads know what it is you’re capable of.”

She eyed him trying to size him up. But she couldn’t. She didn’t look it and she didn’t sound it, but she was terrified.

“How did you even get down here?” she asked.

He ignored her question. “Can’t help but notice the way you’ve taken a liking to the Captain.”

“What are you–” Her voice trailed off when Rogers produced a piece of paper from inside his coat. He unfolded it and there in his hand was one of the letters Simcoe had sent to her that summer.

“H-How did you get that?” she stammered. If he had that, then that meant he had gotten upstairs to her room somehow.

A throaty chuckle escaped Rogers, “The same way I got down here.” He smirked and pretended to read over the letter. “Now, what I don’t understand is, why would you be so interested in writing to ol’ Simcoe?”

“The same reason you’re interested in Abe Woodhull. I need information on John Andre.”

Rogers narrowed his eyes, “I’m handling that. I already told the lot of you.”

“Aye, but that was before what happened at Rocky Point… You were there, weren’t you?”

 _Why else would Simcoe mistake Caleb for Rogers?_ She told herself. That detail hadn’t made sense to her until now.

Rogers rose to his feet again and pushed the letter into her hand. When Abe had stood toe-to-toe with her, she had seen right through him. But when Rogers did it now, Molly felt her chin falling slightly. She was scared.

“I don’t care whose bed you’re warming.” He was speaking just above a whisper now, and his tone had changed, and she wanted nothing more than to flee from the cellar. But she knew if she did that, he may not trust her. He may try to kill her. “I came here to make sure you’re not intending to breath a word of me being here to my former lads.”

“Of course not.” Her voice broke.

“And you know what.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “I believe you.” He grinned wickedly and his tone lightened, “We have an understanding. I understand your story. The ol’ story of a woman martyring herself for a man. Two men it would seem…” he had stepped away from her and he returned where he was sat on the barrel. “I’ve heard enough over the past weeks. I know you’re Tallmadge’s girl.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“It makes no difference to me. But you weren’t what I was expecting.” He shrugged. “I expected Tallmadge’s girl to have more loyalty.”

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“ _Loyalty?_ You want to talk to me about loyalty? You’re a turncoat!”

“I’m not talking about politics, I’m talking about loyalty towards the men you seduce?”

She opened her mouth to protest, but she was at a loss.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She finally said.

“Don’t act so coy, lassie. You strung MacInnis along well enough. And then you ended it by slaying him. I know you’re probably planning on having the Captain meet a similar fate.”

 _He’s right._ And that scared her more than anything. _Am I really that transparent?_

“But, _seduce_ …” she scoffed. That part seemed so absurd to her. “I’m not a whore.”

“Then how do you suppose to hear anything?”

Her expression fell. This conversation had taken a turn, and she was very uncomfortable. She was trembling, and she could feel an embarrassed blush rising in her cheeks.

“I’m sure Helen of Troy heard plenty from Paris, and I’m sure Cleopatra heard plenty from Mark Antony from the comfort of working on their backs.”

“I’m not a whore.” She repeated, but her voice sounded very small now.

“Nor were Helen or Cleopatra.”

A beat.

“If I bring you ale, will this all be over?” she asked. “Will you finally leave Long Island?”

Rogers nodded and his response sent shivers down her spine.

“I swear on Tallmadge’s life.”

She turned back to the cellar door. She needed to retrieve a mug and pitcher. And as she walked out of the cellar, she could hear Rogers continuing to speak behind her.

“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster.”

 _It’s too late_. She thought. And as she ascended the stairs, she knew she was not the same person she was two years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I shamelessly having Robert Rogers quote Friedrich Nietzsche? Yes, yes I am.
> 
> Regarding the whole Savannah, Georgia thing, that is historically accurate! The redcoats did march upon Savannah and took control of the city in December of 1778.
> 
> One of my favorite things about TURN and the history of the Culper Ring is all the parallels between the characters/historical figures. I'm going for a similar parallel between Peggy and Molly.


	8. 3x07

**December 1778**

_… I have informed the Captain that Major Rogers will be vulnerable at Rocky Point. Whence he arrives, his forces will be met by…_

Molly paused her quill. _How would Hewlett word it?_ She asked herself. Her eyes scanned over the beginnings of the message, and then she decided against everything she had written – once again. She still felt too guilty; she couldn’t do that to Hewlett, not after all he had done for her and Anna. She had been at this for over an hour, and she still wasn’t satisfied with what plans she had made. She crumpled up the parchment before leaning back in her chair, staring at the multiple balls of paper before her.

It had been two weeks since Simcoe and his Rangers had left for Oyster Bay. It had been two weeks, and Molly was still unsure how to proceed with her plans. She still wanted to kill Simcoe; she still wanted to frame Judge Woodhull for his murder; that much she _was_ decided on. As for the details, she wasn’t sure what to do. She kept considering confiding in Mary, but she knew that would be a mistake. It didn’t matter how much of a pest the Magistrate could be; he was still Abe and Mary’s family. Molly doubted they would be too eager to see his demise.

She didn’t think it would be this hard to plan a man’s demise, but she had little experience with murder – she was still shaken from how MacInnis died, and she didn’t consider that murder per se – and the more she thought about killing Simcoe, the less sure of herself she was. It had all been so simple before, and she had made up her mind. But that was before Simcoe had asked her to be his confidant, and now _that_ detail also made her hesitant. She wasn’t sure what angle she wanted to adopt. Did she continue with the forgery she was attempting now? Should she create evidence to indict the Judge and allow Simcoe to live? Or should she wait until an opportunity arose to destroy _both_ men?

She rose to her feet and retrieved her cloak from where it was hung beside the door. It wasn’t too far into the night, and she was still dressed, so she decided to go for a walk. She needed to clear her head.

When she stepped out of the tavern, she hugged her cloak tighter around herself. There wasn’t yet snow on the ground, but the winter air was cold and bitter, and she could see her breath coming out in white puffs before her. She had planned to walk along the small coast and then return to the tavern. But the further out of town she got, she decided to visit the dead drop. She hadn’t been there since the morning after she snooped in Simcoe’s quarters. As far as she knew, there hadn’t been any response from Ben or Caleb. But maybe there would be one now?

When she finally walked through the small clearing and neared the dead drop, she stopped in her tracks. She could hear voices. She had a brief moment of panic, remembering what happened when she killed MacInnis. Remembering how she had overheard him and Tanner as they taunted Abe and Anna. She shook off the feeling and diverted her path so that she was hidden behind some remains of the underbrush – most of it was dead or dying because of the weather. She held her breath, listening, but then she realized that she recognized all of the voices speaking. She stepped out of her hiding spot and approached the dead drop. There by the bay was a whaleboat, and beside the boat stood Abe, Caleb, and… Anna?

“Anna?” she asked in disbelief.

All three of them turned their heads to look at her, and a grin spread across her sister-in-law’s face.

“Molly!” she greeted, hurrying over and pulling her into a hug.

“My God, how are you?” Molly laughed, “What are you doing here?”

Anna’s grin began to fade, and she shot Caleb and Abe a look. Molly’s expression wilted as well, realizing that this was not a personal visit.

“What happened?” Molly asked.

The three of them looked amongst themselves, and suddenly Molly felt like she was back in the tavern cellar all those years ago, when she didn’t know what the hell was going on.

“What happened?” she repeated.

“We’re leaving.”

Abe was the first to speak.

“Leaving?” she asked.

“It’s not safe to stay here anymore.” Anna tried to cut in.

Molly pulled away from her, feeling a familiar distrust towards her sister-in-law.

“It’s never been safe.” She snapped.

“Look, Simcoe knows Abe is Culper.” Caleb blurted.

She felt the blood drain from her face.

“What?” She looked frantically between the three of them. “How?”

They hesitated, so she stepped forward and grabbed Abe by the collar of his coat.

“ _How?_ ” she growled.

Abe shoved her away, and she felt a rage build inside of her. She drew back her hand to deliver a punch, but Caleb stopped her and held her back.

“Get off of me!” she hissed under her breath.

“Will you just listen?” Caleb responded, his tone just as hushed.

“How does he know?” she asked again.

Abe: “I–”

Anna: “Tell her!”

Abe rolled his eyes, “Fine… After Robert Rogers mugged me and Mary, I let it slip that Culper Jr. would be in Oyster Bay for Thanksgiving.”

“What?” Molly exclaimed. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“I went to Oyster Bay to warn the Townsends, but little did I know that these two were planning on cutting me out.”

Molly felt a pang of worry. She turned to look at Caleb and he nodded.

“It’s true.”

“Cut him out? Does that mean cut me out too?” her voice had gone quiet.

“Of course not.” Caleb replied. “Washington wants to cut Abe out of contact with the Quaker. This newspaper business to pass messages isn’t working anymore. We’re not getting news in time.” He scoffed, “Not that it matters anyway. With Townsend now being out and all.”

Molly shook her head, trying to make sense of everything.

“But what the hell does this have to do with Simcoe?”

Anna: “He turned up.”

Molly: “At Townsend’s house?”

Abe nodded. She swallowed and looked away for the moment, suddenly feeling very worried for her friend now.

Molly: “And he saw you?”

Abe: “No. But Rogers stole my pistol, and he left it behind. I doubt Townsend thought to hide it. Why would he? He didn’t know the pistol had my initials on it.”

Molly watched as Abe began to pace slightly between the trees. When she watched him now, she understood that he was an anxious. And she was scared for him, because although they had their disagreements, she did not want Abe to die. He didn’t deserve to die; especially not at the hands of the damned Captain Simcoe.

“What do we do?” she asked trying to remain composed. But the truth was, she felt nauseous.

“I’m to get Mary and Thomas. The lot of us are leaving in two days times and Caleb’ll ferry us to the rebel side.”

Molly nodded. She agreed that that was a good plan. Anything was a good plan if it meant that Mary and Thomas were safe.

“And you’re coming with us.” Abe added.

“Sorry?”

She could feel Abe and Anna’s eyes on her; judging her for her hesitation. But she didn’t care about them. She turned to Caleb.

“I take it nothing came from the information I sent.” She said.

Caleb grinned, “No, the letter was good. In fact, Washington’s chosen to let the redcoats take Savannah. But not before he managed to get some fellas out and send some in.”

Molly felt a smile tugging on her lips; she felt proud.

“Thank God.”

“And Ben’s still looking into that Admiral fella you wrote about.”

“Where did you hear anything?”

Caleb and Molly both looked over at Abe. Molly swallowed, suddenly feeling nervous herself.

“The tavern, of course.” She lied. “You know, ale makes lips loose.”

Abe seemed satisfied with her answer.

“Well, I’m glad at least one of us was able to make some progress before we leave.”

She furrowed her eyebrows. She didn’t like the way the three of her friends were talking as if she wasn’t even there. It was as if they had made the decision without her.

“I’m not leaving.” She spoke up.

Caleb: “What do you mean?”

“I’m not leaving.”

Anna: “You heard what we said. Simcoe is coming here–”

Molly: “Aye, to look for Abe. Not for me.” Abe tried to interject, but she cut him off. “I’m serious. If the information I’m getting is good, why stop now? And when things become slow like they were, then I’ll just leave a message at the dead drop, and Caleb can ferry me across the Sound whenever.”

Abe looked over at Anna. His jaw was clenched, and he looked annoyed, but his tone didn’t give him away. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

Anna: “Say what? I agree with her.”

Caleb: “Me too.”

They conversed for a short while longer, making plans for Abe and Mary’s departure, and then Anna and Caleb returned to the whaleboat and they began to sail away. And that left Molly and Abe to walk back to the main road. He refused to speak to her as they walked, but she didn’t mind. She was too chilled to make good company. Neither of them said a word until they finally reached Abe and Mary’s half-rebuilt farmhouse.

Molly stopped, watching Abe as he headed in the direction of the shack. He stopped abruptly and looked back at her.

“Aren’t you coming?” he asked.

“Why?”

“It’s freezing out here. Come on.” He nodded towards the shack, but Molly shook her head.

“Oh no. You’re not roping me into this. You can explain to Mary well enough what happened.”

He chuckled lightheartedly, “Molly!”

But she saw right through him. “You’re the one telling Mary. Not me.”

His smile faded and he bit his lip. Even in the darkness, she could see he was trying to keep his teeth from chattering. He was right; it was freezing outside.

“I’m going to bed.” She said decidedly.

He didn’t try arguing with her. “Will you at least come by tomorrow?” A beat. “Not for my sake, but for Mary’s.”

They eyed each other for a second, and then Molly faintly nodded.

“For Mary.”

They were agreed on that much at least. Even after how he had treated her, Mary was all Abe had left. As for Molly, Mary was the only person in Setauket she considered a friend. She and Abe had never spoken about it directly, but they were in agreement that they would do everything in their collective power to look after Mary (and Thomas, of course).

“Good night.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

* * *

When Molly arrived at the shack the next morning, she wasn’t expecting to see that they were already packed. But it seemed, upon hearing the news from Abe, Mary had been anxious all night, and she had set to work seeing that they were packed and ready to travel at a moment’s notice.

“What do you mean you’re not going?”

Mary had been at her throat since she arrived. She wasn’t satisfied with the fact that Molly was choosing to stay behind. Molly took a seat at the small table, looking over the trunk placed on the tabletop, up at her friend.

“I’m not, Mary. You can’t change my mind.”

Abe managed to shift the conversation.

“Will you two stop it. We need to decide what we’re going to do about Thomas.”

Molly shrugged, “Just go get him.”

“That’s not the problem, Abe’s father is the problem.” Mary replied.

“Then go through the slaves’ quarters. Find Aberdeen. She’ll fetch him.”

Abe: “No, she won’t. Not when she realizes I’m taking him from.”

Molly: “Then act like you’re staying. Once she’s left the room, take and run.”

Mary: “No, that won’t work.” She had forgotten her frustration regarding Molly’s decision. “It doesn’t matter if Abe stays, Aberdeen will tell Richard regardless.”

“So what? You’re overthinking this. Abe can outrun him. He’s getting to be an old man.”

“There’s still two Rangers at the house.

Molly cussed. She understood now. The Magistrate had already betrayed them once. What was stopping him from betraying them again? He didn’t have to chase after Abe. He could send the Rangers to do it for him. And then what? There was no way they could get to the cove. Molly had faith in Abe, but not _that_ much faith.

“That leaves only one option.” Abe continued. “I’ve got to stop my father from altering those two Rangers.”

“And how are you going to do that?” Abe did say anything, and Mary scoffed, realizing what he intended, “No, you can’t be serious.”

Molly didn’t understand.

“What?” she asked, looking between the couple. “What?”

“Abe?” Mary’s tone was more frantic now.

“Well what’s wrong with that?” Abe shrugged. “If I strike him, he can’t come after us. What other choice to we have?”

A beat.

“This is a bad idea.” Molly said under her breath.

“I still don't like it.” Mary was only addressing Abe now. It was as if Molly wasn’t in the room. It reminded Molly of the other time she became invisible; of the night Mary plotted to kill Eastin.

Abe: “Neither do I, but it's the only way.”

Mary: “We could talk to him. He might listen.”

“He's never gonna listen.”

“Abe, if you strike your father with such force he cannot stand, you could injure him far worse.”

He rolled his eyes, “I'm not gonna kill him. And don't think of him as my father, all right? He is the man keeping our son from us.”

“Abe–”

“Look, once I get Thomas, we'll go straight to the cove. Caleb will be heading there soon, all right?”

Molly jumped upon hearing sharp noise outside. It almost sounded like a horse nickering. They were all silent and Abe and Mary shot each other a look, and then Abe went over to the window to peak outside.

“What is it?” Mary asked.

Neither of them were prepared for what came out of Abe’s mouth.

“Simcoe.”

“What?”

“Shit.” Molly swore in disbelief.

Abe hurried away to the window and over to the table.

“Hide the trunk. Hide the trunk.” He whispered frantically.

Molly moved away from the table to peer out the window herself. The window was foggy from the winter air, but she still recognized the green coats of the Queen’s Rangers. Abe and Mary quickly stashed the trunk under the cot.

“Is Rogers with him?” Mary asked.

“No, I didn't see him. Maybe he's dead.”

_God, I hope so._

The figures had gotten closer and Molly moved away from the window. She snatched Mary’s hand and pulled her down to sit on the cot beside her. Their legs could hide the trunk more. Abe leaned against the tabletop, trying to appear unfazed.

Just as they all found their placed around the room, the door burst open and in walked Captain Simcoe. None of them knew why, but just he stepped inside. Abe could see that there were two Rangers hovering by the door. He felt a wave of nausea sweep over him, but he swallowed it down. This was just a small hiccup, he told himself. He was just assuming, after all, that Townsend hadn’t hidden his gun. Perhaps the Quaker had?

Simcoe glanced around the room, and his gaze fell abruptly on where Molly was sat on the bed. He furrowed his brow in confusion. He hadn’t expected her to be here, and she wished she wasn’t here.

“Ms. Strong?”

“Welcome back.” She was trying to keep her teeth from chattering, but she was chilled from the sudden burst of cold air that accompanied him inside the shack.

“Captain.” Abe nodded casually.

“Good day.” Simcoe nodded briefly at him and Mary. “Woodhull. Mrs. Woodhull.”

A beat.

“Did you... did you get him? Did you get Rogers?” Abe stammered.

“His capture is imminent. In the meantime, you'll be glad to know we retrieved a piece of your stolen property.”

One of the Rangers hovering outside the door reached to his belt and handed a pistol through the doorway to the Captain. He turned the butt of the pistol to Abe so he could see the initials carved into the handle: _A.W_.

“These are your initials, are they not?” Simcoe asked. He sounded too calm; Molly had always found calm anger to be the most frightening thing. “Would have been polite to warn me he was armed, don't you agree?”

“Yeah, I... I'm sorry.” If Abe was frightened, Molly couldn’t tell. He was still keeping up the appearance of the bumbling farmer. “Rogers had just mugged us, and I didn't want to confuse it by–”

Simcoe cut him off, “Owning a proscribed weapon that should have been surrendered to the garrison.”

Mary reached over and squeezed Molly’s hand. Molly herself wanted to speak up, but she didn’t know what to say. She knew they were being caught in a lie, but there was nothing she could say without indicting herself in the process. She was supposed to be ignorant to details such as these.

“Yeah.” Abe’s voice had gone quiet.

“I understand.” Simcoe shrugged, “I was confused by something as well. Why _you_? Of all the people to rob in Setauket, why did Robert Rogers only choose you?”

Mary tried to offer an explanation, “We're all alone out here and–”

“Please.” Simcoe stopped her. “I want to hear your husband lie one last time.”

Molly felt her blood run cold. Abe hesitated to respond.

“No?” Simcoe sounded as condescending as ever. “Come.”

With that word, both of the Rangers at the door stepped through the threshold, and while one went to restrain Abe’s arms, the other one delivered a hard blow to his stomach. Abe grunted, doubling over in pain as the men began dragging him outside. Molly and Mary were on their feet in an instant, rushing after them.

“John! John!” she shouted.

He was ignoring her though. As they all found placed outside, there were two more Rangers there, pulling the women to the side, to keep them out of the way. Molly watched in horror as the Rangers forced Abe to his knees and Simcoe drew his pistol.

“And now for a task long overdue.” Simcoe leveled the gun to Abe’s head.

“No. No!” Mary cried out.

Molly pushed away from the Ranger beside her and stepped between Simcoe and Abe.

“John, stop!” she reached out and tried to push his arm down, so that the gun faced the ground. “Please, wait. Don’t do this. You don’t have to do this.”

She tried to read his face, but there was nothing there. He was expressionless, emotionless. And that scared her more than anything.

“Odell.” He said calmly.

The Ranger she had pushed away from was beside her now. But she didn’t want to comply. She was angry and scared, and she wished she had a weapon so she could retaliate. When Odell placed a hand on her shoulder, she yanked herself away from his grip and roughly elbowed him in the ribcage. He winced in pain, and while he was distracted, Molly pressed herself closer to Simcoe. He tried to step away from her, taken aback, but she had a firm hold on his coat, and she said in a low voice, trying to appeal in the only way she knew how,

“Do this for me. Please. Have mercy.”

“Odell.” He repeated, calmly.

And Odell had recovered, and he wrapped his arms around her. She struggled against him, but he half picked her off her feet, dragging her away from the Captain. And then they were both beside Mary once more, who was crying, for they were at a loss. They were all at a loss.

Simcoe lifted his arm once more, leveling the gun.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Abe said. “You were right.”

Simcoe rolled his eyes, “Ah, here we go.”

“You were right what you said on the road. Rogers is Culper.”

“Is he now?”

He sounded unconvinced.

“Yes, I've been helping him for over a year.”

Molly couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Abe!” Mary cried out in disbelief.

He continued, “Ever since the murder of Captain Joyce."

“Oh, yes, I heard about that during my unfortunate captivity. They said the drummer did it.”

“No,” Abe shook his head, “Rogers said the drummer did it. It was Robeson. John Robeson was the real killer.”

Molly had stopped struggling against the Ranger. Her brow furrowed in confusion.

“What?” she exclaimed.

 _Captain Joyce… but it was the company drummer. That’s why Anna had said. That’s what…_ Her expression fell as she remembered the letter. She remembered how that was one of the first times Abe and Anna had excluded her. And she understood now that they had not told her the whole truth.

“He and Joyce were a pair of mollies.”

Molly’s mouth fell agape in shock. _No_ , she thought, _No that’s not right. Robeson? Of all people to be queer… Robeson? He couldn’t…_ She couldn’t believe it. But she also knew Abe was not creative enough to think of a lie like that on the spot, so it must be true.

“I'm the one who found out.” Abe went on. “And when I went to Rogers and I told him, he used it against Robeson. He blackmailed him. He threatened him. He forced him to spy and forced me to watch over him.”

“Forced you?” Simcoe asked.

He still sounded unconvinced, and he stepped forward so that the gun was now mere inches from Abe’s temple.

“All right, he told me that someone else would be watching me, that he had watchers all over Setauket reporting to him, giving him shelter.” Abe swallowed, “He said that if I didn't watch over Robeson, he would reveal that I had been with Anna Strong. That if I ever betrayed him, the death of my son would be the last thing that I ever saw... All right? That is what he does. He finds out everything about you, your secrets and your shame, and he ties it around your neck like a noose and he chokes you. Now I had no other choice.”

A beat passed and for a moment, Molly thought that combination of fact and fiction would’ve sufficed. But then Simcoe spoke up,

“I thought I had heard your last lie, but that was quite impressive.”

“No, I can prove it to you!” Abe pleaded. “I have proof. I'll show you. I can prove it to you.”

And Simcoe hesitated; intrigued.

* * *

John readjusted his grip on the pistol as he followed Abraham Woodhull down the stairs of his root cellar. He didn’t know this space had survived the fire, and once they reached the bottom, with what light was coming from the top of the stairs, he tried to take in the space.

It was messy, yes, but it was a sort of organized chaos. Papers and quills and books were stacked on the small desk against one way. He could see old remains of candles scattered on the floor around the desk. In one corner there were stacks of crates, tools were leaned against one wall. But the thing that caught his eyes was a scrap of cloth on the ground beside the desk. He picked it up and, in his hand, he held a rudimentary eyepatch. There was dried blood caked on one side of it, and he was reminded of the injury he had gifted to Robert Rogers back at Rocky Point. He doubted the injury would heal anytime soon, and here was proof of that.

He glanced from the eyepatch to Woodhull. The Mrs. Woodhull was now stood beside him as well, finally completing her descent of the stairs. His man O’Connell was stood waiting for orders on the stairs.

“So this was his lair?” John asked slowly.

He was paying close attention to the farmer’s reaction. He could recognize dishonesty on men’s faces, but with Woodhull, it was harder to tell. He needed to be able to tell.

“Yeah, one of them as far as I know.” Woodhull shrugged, “You were supposed to kill him. You may as well kill me. I am a dead man now that you've seen this place.”

John inhaled slowly, trying to decide where to go from here. He still didn’t believe the younger man, but he also couldn’t discount this new information. With the new insinuations against the townspeople of Setauket. He needed more time. He needed to think. But he also needed to make a decision, so he turned his attention to O’Connell.

“Have Cavil and Pierce post hunting blinds, one on the north tree line and one in the horse stable.”

“Yes, sir.” He said turning away from the room.

John noticed the confusion on Woodhull’s face, so he added, “Don't worry, you'll hardly know they're there.”

“We can't stay here.” He stammered.

“Didn't you hear Abe?” Mrs. Woodhull cut in. “Rogers will come for us and Thomas, too.”

“Your son is safe at Whitehall.” John retorted. He remembered seeing the boy that morning. They had returned to Whitehall before coming to the farmhouse. “If you wish to join him there, you're welcome. Your husband shall remain here.” He looked at Woodhull now. “As you say, you're already dead. But you can still serve a purpose.”

He nodded for them to follow him out of the cellar, and then he proceeded on without them. His mind was set on another detail now, and he quickly altered his path in the direction of where Molly Strong was still being restrained by Odell. He gave his man a nod and he released her, returning to his place to watch their horses. As soon as she was released, she crossed her arms over her chest. She was visibly shivering from the cold.

“While I appreciate your feeble attempt to defend your acquaintances,” he began, “please refrain from appealing to our alliance in the presence of my men.”

She scoffed bitterly. “So sorry to have embarrassed you.” She spat.

He bit the inside of his lip. He never liked when she became cross with him.

“You knew of this?”

With the change of subject, she appeared to forget her anger.

“No. I didn’t.”

He wanted to believe her, but he couldn’t. Not now.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I was invited.”

“Any success while I was away?” He wasn’t entirely sure why he asked that. Perhaps to remind himself that she was a loyalist. Had she not proven it time and time again? But he still had his doubts.

“No. I wasn’t invited over, but now that you’re back…” His raised a hand indicating for her to stop, and her voice trailed off. She began sober again, “What are you going to do?”

“Until I know what has happened here today, I’m separating the three of you. Woodhull is to remain here, Mrs. Woodhull is to be with her son at Whitehall, and you are to return to your tavern.” He turned and hollered for one of his men. “Lieutenant, you’re to escort Ms. Strong back into town. Remain at the tavern with her until I send orders.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Lieutenant went to fetch his horse. John turned back to Molly and he could see the uncertainty on her face. And she was looking up at him with her doe-like eyes, and he always hated when she looked at him like that. Like she was frightened of him.

“Go with O’Connell.” He said calmly.

She nodded, and wordlessly stepped away, following his Lieutenant to where he was with the horses.

* * *

Molly was sat in the front of the saddle, with Lieutenant O’Connell’s arms on either side of her waist, holding the horse’s reins. They were riding at a leisurely pace in the direction of town, but Molly didn’t feel the slightest bit calm. Her mind was racing.

 _I have to get away_. She thought. _I have to get to Caleb. To warn him._ Being who he was, she knew Caleb would come looking for them. And if he did so, he could run right into the Rangers. He could be killed, and she wasn’t going to let that happen. _Then I have to get back to Mary and figure out what the hell we’re supposed to do next._

They had only been riding for a couple of minutes, but already, the farmhouse and the other Rangers were out of sight. It was just her and the Lieutenant. She briefly considered kicking the horse into gallop; she could fight the reins from O’Connell and toss him off the horse. But even then, she knew he would go to the other Rangers, to Simcoe himself, and then _she_ would be the one they were hunting. She knew for a fact she would not live much longer if she was on the run. She knew her limits.

She briefly considered leaping from the horse and fleeing into the woods, but she knew that would have the same outcome; except O’Connell would probably catch her and bring her directly to the Rangers. That left her with only one option: she had to kill him. She had to kill O’Connell.

When the thought crossed her mind, she imagined she would feel guilt again, the same thing she felt when she killed MacInnis. But she felt no shame now. She _wanted_ to, she _had_ to. That was the only way to ensure that she avoid suspicion. She could easily blame the entire affair on Rogers. It wasn’t like he was returning to town anytime soon. And perhaps that would draw suspicion away from Abe? _But what if I can’t kill him? What if he stops me?_

She brushed the thoughts aside. _I have to at least try._ _To save Caleb…_

Whatever she decided, she needed to make up her mind before they got too close to town. She was running out of time.

“I don’t fell so well.” She said, her voice wavering.

“We’re almost there, ma’am.”

“I really, I…”

She went limp against him and began to push her weight against one of his arms at her waist.

“Ma’am.”

He lost his grip on her and she slid from the saddle, into a heap on the ground. She let out a deep grunt. She had fallen off plenty of horses in her life, and she always forgot how much it hurt. She knew her hip would bruise.

“Ma’am!”

O’Connell yanked on the reins, stopping the horse and dismounted, hurrying over to her. She remained in the ground, pretending to be dazed.

“Are you all right?” he sounded panicked.

He had one hand on her waist and other on her back, helping her into a sitting position, she mumbled something incoherently, and her eyes darted to the pistol at his waist. She reached out and grabbed it, but the pistol got caught in its place at his belt, and the pause gave him enough time to realize what was happening, and he grasped her wrist.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, the worry gone from his tone.

She was panicked now. She messed up. She began fighting against him, trying to yank the gun free, but his grip only tightened, and she winced. He was hurting her. She growled in frustration when he pushed her onto her back, to restrain her. She began kicking, spitting, doing anything in her power to distract him.

“Stop! Stop!” He was ordering, but she wasn’t listening.

They were both on the ground, she was on her back, and he was pinning her to the ground with one knee digging into her hip and the other into her thigh. And she could feel all her nerves pinching, and the pain brought tears to her eyes. But with the new position, she managed to wiggle the gun free from his belt, and the pistol was between them now. Both their hands were grasping at the weapon, trying to gain the upper hand.

She let out a yelp upon hearing the gun discharge. The horse neighed in disapproval from near them, and they heard his hoofbeats disappear as he fled. Both she and the Ranger held their breaths, waiting to see if one of them had been shot. And in that instant of hesitation, Molly released her grip on the pistol, and her hand flew back to O’Connell’s belt, and she grabbed ahold of the knife that was still there. In one swift movement, the knife was in her hand and she pushed the blade into his abdomen. O’Connell cried out in pain, and pulled away slightly, shifting his weight. Within seconds, she pushed him away and she was the one pinning him to the ground this time.

If anyone could see her, they would think she looked like an animal. Her teeth were bared, and she was growling in frustration and she repeatedly stabbed the blade of the knife into the man’s chest. Even after she knew he was long dead, she continued to stab him. Finally, with her chest heaving from the exertion, she stopped. She let the bloodied knife slip from her grip as she sat atop of him, trying to regain control of her breathing. Her hands were drenched in O’Connell’s blood, as were the very front of her dress and her skirts.

She felt numb all over as she finally pushed herself to her feet. When she did so, she winced in pain. She was suddenly aware of a burning sensation in her left shoulder. She looked down at herself, and she felt nauseous. There was a wide circle of blood pooled in the left shoulder of her dress, and the circle was only growing wider. That’s when she realized what had happened: When the pistol discharged, it _had_ hit one of them. _She_ had been shot.

She swallowed, trying to moisten her dried throat. Coherent thoughts weren’t coming to her, but she decided to stand there for a moment. To pause and see if she felt any different. After several minutes of this, she decided she was alright… well, other than the burning sensation and itch under her skin. Her shoulder did ache like mad, but other than that, she felt completely fine. It was for that reason why she chose to ignore her wound.

The thought of applying pressure to the wound or trying to make a makeshift bandage didn’t even occur to her. She turned away from her kill and looked towards the woods. And she mindlessly let her legs carry her in the direction of the dead drop. In the direction of Caleb.

* * *

It didn’t take long for the adrenaline rush to wear off, and she found herself wandering through the woods with her hand pressed sloppily to her wound, with blood running down her arms, and with tears streaming down her face. She had only been walking for perhaps twenty minutes, and she had already broken out into a cold sweat, and her chest was hammering, and she was struggling to catch her breath. And although she felt miserable, she knew she was almost there. Frog’s Point was just over that ridge and then she could warn Caleb and then wander back to the main road.

Her mind became foggy upon finding her way to the cove. She remembered the conversation, but it was as if she was an observer. She had no recollection of making the words leave her lips. She stumbled out of the underbrush and there beside the water was Caleb Brewster. He grinned upon seeing her, but that emotion quickly dissolved.

“Molly? My God, Moll, what the hell happened to you?”

He was beside her now, with his hands on her arms, trying to steady her.

“You need to get out of here.” She gasped.

“What?”

“They’re coming.”

She wasn’t sure why she said it like that. But she supposed someone had stumbled upon O’Connell by now. And she was sure her injury had left a clear enough trail of blood so that someone was probably tracking her.

“Who’s coming?”

“The Rangers.”

Caleb’s expression darkened.

“Did _they_ do this?” he didn’t wait for a response, “Get in the boat.”

“No.”

“Yes. You’re coming with me.”

“No.”

_I have to get back to Mary, back to…_

“Molly, don’t argue with me. C’mon.”

He was trying to half lift her, but she shoved him away.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.

“Get out of here.”

And as soon as those words left her lips, gunshots pierced through the air.

“It’s them.” She croaked.

Caleb swore and grabbed her hand.

“C’mon!”

He pulled her behind him and began to run away from his whaleboat. There were more gunshots behind them as they ran.

“This way!” he shouted.

They knew these woods, but she was still in her daze, so when Caleb suddenly turned, he tried to pull her in his but the blood on her hands made him lose his grip on her, and she was already running in the opposite direction. He swore again, watching her for a moment. But he couldn’t reroute her without getting the both of them caught. He watched her for a second more and continued cursing as he ran in his intended direction. He could find her again, further in the woods. Whatever was happening, he hoped she knew what she was doing.

* * *

Molly ran for she didn’t know how long when she realized that Caleb was no longer beside her, that he was no longer holding her hand. She felt disappointed to see they had lost each other, but she kept running. But she was almost to the main road now, so it seemed a waste to turn back now.

A deep grunt escaped her lips when she lost her footing and tripped into a heap on the ground. She groaned in pain. Her shoulder was burning and throbbing more intensely now. She went to push herself up again, but as she did so, she suddenly felt nauseous, and next thing she knew she was emptying the contents of her stomach on the ground.

She wiped her mouth on her sleeve, and in that moment she realized how cold she was. She had left her cloak back at Abe and Mary’s shack. And her nose was running like crazy now, and she was still sweating profusely, and the blood on her hands and arms also chilled her. She rose to her feet, trying to wipe her hands on her dress, but it wasn’t working. There was already too much blood there.

 _I’ve just got to get back to Whitehall_. She kept telling herself. _Just get back, tell them about the Ranger, and then Abe will be cleared of any suspicion. Just gotta get back… Get back… Get…_

She wasn’t sure exactly of anything. Her head was swimming more than before, and she was unsure of the time or place, or her place in all of this. All she knew was that she had wandered back to the main road. She stood in the middle of the road for a long time, trying to remember which way was the right way to Whitehall. Her head was pounding, and her vision kept going in and out of focus.

 _This is the right way_. She told herself. She had barely taken ten steps when her legs suddenly felt very heavy, and then she was aware of the feeling of falling. Her vision went black before she hit the ground.

* * *

Molly felt numb all over, and she was grateful for the feeling. She felt so much better. She felt drunk. But it was the kind of joyful tipsiness one feels, not the out of control kind. In her dreams, she could hear voices, but they were so far away. And for some reason, she kept seeing the color green.

“Ms. Strong! Ms. Strong.”

“My God, what’s become of O’Connell?

“Do you think Rogers did this?”

“We’ve gotta get her back to the Captain.”

Cursing. And then she felt weightless.

“What?”

“She’s heavier than she looks.”

“C’mon. We have to hurry.”

And then the voices faded, and the darkness was all she was.

* * *

When two of his men burst into the estate, the last thing John expected to see was Molly Strong unconscious and bloodied in Corporal Fitch’s arms.

“What is this?” he asked, outraged.

“Found her on the road. Fainted.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t know. She’s not stirred since we found her.”

To say he was concerned would be an understatement. He was appalled. She had been fine, and in good hands, and now… look at what had become of her.

“In here. Now.” John ordered, taking control of the situation. That’s why they had come to him after all. He was the one they expected to make these sorts of decisions. He led the men into the dining room, where the elder Woodhull was scribbling in a ledger book.

“What in God’s name–?” The Magistrate’s voice caught in his throat when he saw the state of Ms. Strong. He hurried to clear his papers off the table. He was still clearing his papers when the Ranger laid her down on the table.

She stirred slightly, wincing.

“Sorry, ma’am.”

Corporals Fitch and O’Shaughnessy stood there staring down at her, and John was struggling to maintain his temper.

“What the hell is the matter with you two. Fetch Odell.” He demanded.

While the men rushed off to find Odell, John began examining her form. There was blood everywhere. He knew Odell would be along soon. Sergeant Odell was a skilled surgeon when he needed to be. He was always the one called to help see to injuries among the men when there was no doctor in sight. And he knew there wouldn’t be time to find one at this hour. But John also knew his men were foolish. For God’s sake, they hadn’t even attempted to stop the bleeding.

“I’ll do it myself.” He muttered under his breath.

His hands hesitated momentarily at the front of her dress. He was considering her modesty, but then he realized how foolish he himself was being, and he understood that was probably the reason his men had hesitated as well to assist her in anyway. Strict social norms were how people ended up dead; and he considered that the most foolish way for one to die.

He quickly removed the kerchief from her neck, and he retrieved his knife from his belt so he could begin to cut away at her jacket. Once that was removed, she was laid there in her corset and shift and skirts, and he got to work cutting off the sleeve of her shift as well. And then he found himself staring at a gunshot wound in her left shoulder. He jammed a finger into the wound, and she still didn’t stir. The bullet was still inside her. He knew that much from the lack of an exit wound.

He went over to the sideboard and retrieved a bottle of rum from the shelf. He saw the Magistrate was stood in the doorframe, holding his papers in his arms, watching John as he worked. The older man looked as white as a sheet. John returned to Molly and wetted her removed kerchief with the alcohol. Then he began wiping the blood off her shoulder and chest.

His eyes kept falling on the swells of her breasts, which were threatening to spill out of her corset, and he cursed his subconscious for being so shallow in a time like this. Even as Molly Strong laid there possibly dying, his mind was flashing to sinful thoughts.

Suddenly, Odell was beside him. Odell didn’t need orders. John stepped away, allowing his man to assess her wound. John waited, preparing for what news was to come. But the sound of Mary Woodhull caused him to turn his head.

“Father just told me– My God!” she exclaimed. Sure enough, the Magistrate had disappeared from his place in the doorframe.

Mrs. Woodhull tried to step into the room, but John stepped forward, barring her from entering further. Although he doubted it from her, John was worried she might become hysterical.

“What happened?”

“Unclear. My men found her like this on the road and brought her here.”

“What can I do?” she volunteered, and he gained a little respect towards her because of her offer.

“Water and rags.”

“And a needle and thread, if you have it!” Odell called over his shoulder.

Mary ran off to be of use.

John returned to his place near Odell. He found himself leaning forward, looking over the other man’s shoulder. John was far taller than Odell, so that’s what he found himself doing.

“How is she?” he asked in a hushed tone.

Odell glanced back at him, “Wound’s not serious. She’s lost a lot of blood though. Caused her to go into shock is all.”

John nodded slowly. Although he wouldn’t say it aloud, he was glad to hear the injury was not serious. Still, he was troubled. The bullet had pierced her left shoulder. If it had hit just a few inches down, it would’ve punctured her heart, and she would be dead.

Mrs. Woodhull returned a few minutes later, with Aberdeen on her heels. Mary passed over needle and thread to Odell, and Aberdeen placed a bucket of water and a stack of rags at the edge of the tabletop. Mary froze at the table briefly, looking down at her friend. She had no clue what to make of the entire ordeal. This wasn’t the plan. She couldn’t understand what had caused Molly to end up in the shape she was. When she looked up again, she caught John’s gaze.

“It was Rogers.” She lied. It was the only thing that might make sense; that might save Abe. Although her friend was hurt, she still thought of her husband above all else. “This has to be his doing.”

John eyed her for a moment and then bowed his head slightly.

“When Ms. Strong awakens, the first thing I intend to do is question her as to what happened.”

Mary looked over at Aberdeen.

“When the Sergeant is finished putting her back in one piece, Aberdeen and I will see to her upstairs. We’ll get her cleaned up.”

“I’ll see to it that she’s brought up.”

No more was needed to be said, and the two women made themselves scarce

John turned to the sideboard. He needed a drink, and as he was pouring himself a glass, he noticed a familiar face at the window. It was Corporals Fitch and O’Shaughnessy, taking turns peering into the room. They seemed to be checking on the damsel they had rescued. John abandoned the bottle of rum and crossed the room. His sudden presence at the window made both his men jump outside. He opened the window.

“What are you doing?” John snapped. “You’re to be guarding the estate. Or perhaps you’d prefer that we all be in the same state as Ms. Strong here.”

“Yes, sir.” The men harmonized, and they hurried off to where they were to be positioned at the perimeter of the grounds.

Then he was at the sideboard once more. He looked between the glass and the bottle of alcohol, and then decided against his decision to behave as if being a gentleman mattered in that moment. He lifted the bottle to his lips, his hands still stained with Molly’s blood, and he took a hearty gulp.

Odell finished his work soon after that, and John wasted no time taking the woman in his arms and carrying her upstairs to where Mrs. Woodhull and Aberdeen were awaiting her. As he ascended the stairs, he momentarily thought, _She’s heavier than she looks_.

* * *

“She’s awake.”

Upon hearing those words pass Mary Woodhull’s lips, John was on his feet and headed in the direction of Molly Strong’s quarters. When he stepped into the room, he saw Aberdeen was sat in a chair beside the bed. He bowed his head towards her, but the gesture was unneeded. She rose to her feet and walked past him out of the room. He closed the door after her.

When he was sat in the chair beside the bed, he was able to take in her appearance. She did look better than she had when she first arrived at the estate. Mary and Aberdeen weren’t lying. They had cleaned the blood from Molly’s skin, and they changed her clothes. The duvet was pulled over her body, but he could tell she was dressed in a shift. Her hair was unpinned and appeared to be semi-washed, and it was loose, spread out in tangles on her pillow.

When his gaze finally fell back to her face, he saw that her eyes were cracked open. She had a tired scowl on her face, and she was pouting, but she was looking at him.

“Who did this to you?” He wasted no time. He was sure being questioned was the last thing she wanted to participate in, but he needed to know.

“Robert Rogers.” Her voice was raspy.

He clenched his fists.

“He got to us before we got into town. He killed O’Connell,” she coughed, “and then he shot me.” She coughed again, and her expression changed. “I didn’t know what to do. I pretended to be dead, and when he was gone, I panicked, and I ran into the woods.” She paused, quietly groaning in discomfort. “I don’t remember much after that. I woke up here.”

It took him a few seconds to fully process her words. But it seemed that Mary Woodhull had been correct: this was Rogers’ doing; this was _Culper’s_ doing. And that thought infuriated him more.

“Are you still angry with Abe?”

He blinked at the comment.

“Excuse me?”

Her eyelids were becoming heavy as she spoke, “Please don’t be cross with him. Try to… try to talk with him.” Her voice kept trailing off. She kept falling in and out of sleep. “Will… Will you do that… do that for me?”

He didn’t know how to respond, so he said nothing. He watched her head sink deeper in her pillow, and he knew she had fallen asleep. He was free to leave. He had the answer, the explanation he was looking for. But as he sat there, he appreciated the silence of the room. So, he decided to stay there a little while longer.

Soon, he caught his eyes outlining the shape of her profile. Tracing the curves of her face. He did that often. And whenever he would catch himself, he tried to break the habit, but that’s what it remained: a habit. He always felt to foolish when he caught himself looking at her. He could only imagine what his mother would say – God rest her soul. Molly Strong was the very essence of everything his mother would disapprove of. Growing up, his mother, his grandparents expected him to marry a lady. With his family’s reputation, it was only expected. His father’s reputation. His university education. His position alone made him deserving of a woman of wealth.

As for Molly Strong, she was a farmer’s daughter. Her family was of poor reputation, with her parents coming in and out of wealth her entire life, and even though her brother had acquired much more wealth, now he was a traitor, and now she had nothing. Classist opinions aside, her family’s reputation could be overlooked. But then there was her _personal_ reputation to consider, and the entire town was well-versed on that fact. At first glance, she was a poor, uneducated woman, from a poor, uneducated town. So why had he developed such a fondness towards her?

He had once told himself it was because of the stories he had heard from her neighbors; the stories about her infamous short temper. He had never experienced that behavior from her first-hand, but the trait reminded him of himself. But he was a man. He was allowed to have a temper; women weren’t so fortunate. He was certain that, if circumstances were different, they would’ve been quick acquaintances.

But the circumstances were what they were. And because of them, he knew Molly was not fond of him. She had said so herself: _She loathed him_. Although she did not behave as such now, he still didn’t believe that those opinions had to easily dissolved. But he did feel a fondness towards her. And he didn’t try to understand it because it didn’t make sense even to himself. It was because of those feelings why he felt a renewed rage towards Robert Rogers. That man had already proven himself to be a pest. And now he had killed one of his men, and he had very nearly killed Molly as well.

As far as he was concerned, this was no longer about hunting a pawn in the Patriot’s espionage. No, this was personal now. The next time he encountered Rogers, and he was certain that time was imminent, he would not hesitate this time to shoot the man dead.

* * *

The next time Molly opened her eyes, she awoke to the sound of gunfire followed by a loud _thud_. She laid there for a moment trying to get her bearings, trying to remember where she was, but then it all came rushing back to her. She gasped sitting up in the bed. She swore aloud and grasped at her injured shoulder. The sudden movement made it ache.

It was night. She could tell that much from the way the curtains were darkened. Her room was being illuminated by a few candles scattered around the room. She looked down at herself for she hadn’t had a chance to since she fainted in the main road all those hours ago. She was wearing a clean shift, and she faintly remembered Mary whispering to her when she helped her change clothes earlier that day. She pushed the fabric off her shoulder and her eyes were met with a heavy layer of bandages. She breathed out a sigh of relief. She had been left in this room alone, and she was certain if her injury was too serious, she would not have been abandoned in here. But that was not the case, and she whispered a thanks to God.

She remembered herself. She had not simply woken up; she had been startled by the sound of gunfire. She needed to get dressed, to see what was happening. She groaned as she pushed herself from the bed and to her feet. She looked around, but she didn’t see any sign of her bloodied clothes. _Aberdeen must be washing them_. She thought. She stumbled to the wardrobe at one end of the room. When she flung open the doors, hanging in the wardrobe was a variety of banyans. She decided they would do, and she pulled one around her form. The clothes clearly belonged to the Magistrate for the banyan was too long for her and it dragged on the floor by her feet. She stumbled back to the door, using the furniture and the walls to help support herself. She still felt weak.

As soon as she was out in the hallway, she jumped as someone else burst out of the room at the other end of the hall. It was Simcoe. He looked wild. He had a hand pressed to the left side of his head, and that’s when she noticed the blood gushing out from his fingers. They caught each other’s gaze briefly and then he fled down the stairs. The room he had exited was Mary and Abe’s. Molly hurried inside and found Mary sitting in a full washbasin, fully nude. She was crying.

Molly quickly closed the door behind her and went over to the basin.

“What’s wrong?” she croaked, her throat still dry from sleep.

Mary shook her head, her crying subsiding slightly.

“He nearly caught me.” She whispered.

“Who?”

“Simcoe.”

“What? Caught you how?”

Mary leaned forward in the tub, now sober of her emotions, and she pulled Molly down so that only she could hear.

“I shot him. I shot Simcoe. And when he came in here to see if I was alright, I had barely hidden everything away.” She swallowed, “I killed a Ranger as well.”

Molly stared at her friend in disbelief. She didn’t know what to feel; she was in shock.

“Now what the hell happened to you?” Mary continued.

“I killed O’Connell.” It was Mary’s turn to look surprised. “I knew Caleb would come looking for you, and I went to him, to warm him.”

“You could’ve died.”

“Same goes for you.”

Mary didn’t dare breathe a word of what she had done to Caleb Brewster. She didn’t tell Molly how she had sent the Rangers after him. She knew full well what she was doing, but Mr. Brewster’s well-being was not her primary concern. Abe was all she cared about right now. And she was certain Molly would not understand.

They both startled slightly upon hearing a commotion downstairs. Loud voices echoed off the walls. Molly pushed herself to her feet once more. When she looked towards the door, she saw a red handprint on the wallpaper beside the doorframe. She wasted no time crossing the room and ripping that chunk of wallpaper off the wall. She wadded up the paper and left it on the nearby dresser. She looked back at Mary, who was still in the tub.

“Hide that as well.” Molly said. “I’ll be right back.”

And then she was out of the room. She began to descend the stairs to investigate the noise. Right as she reached the foot of the stairs, the front door burst open and Simcoe and a few of his Rangers stepped inside. All the men appeared frantic.

“What happened?” she asked.

But they were ignoring her. Simcoe shouted orders, and the men scattered to find their places around the house.

“What happened?”

Simcoe made a move to move into the adjacent room, so she reached out and grasped his arm. He tensed at her touch; he seemed startled by her presence, as if he hadn’t noticed her there.

“Stop. What is going on?” she demanded.

“Return to your quarters. We have the situation under control.” He lied.

“What happened to you?”

She already knew the answer: This was Mary’s doing. And while she wanted to commend her friend, at the same time Mary had very nearly gone and ruined Molly’s plans to kill Simcoe herself and frame the Judge. It didn’t matter what had happened that day; Molly knew her friends would not understand the reasoning for her plans. But they didn’t need to know.

“You’re bleeding like a stuck pig.” She added.

“I’m fine.”

“You’ll be no use to anyone if you bleed out on the floor.”

“Rogers is still out there.”

“Well, you can’t protect us from him if you don’t protect yourself.”

They stood there scowling at one another; each of them too stubborn to give in to the other.

* * *

John wasn’t sure why he had given in her to her suggestion. But then again, Odell was to be absent for most of the night, searching the woods for Rogers. He knew his wound couldn’t be properly seen to for hours. So, there they were, in his quarters. Aberdeen had brought up a bowl of water, a rag, and some strips of cloth, and now Molly Strong was attempting to bandage his head. He was sat on the edge of his bed, and she was sat in a chair across from him. He had removed his coat, and he felt chilled from where his blood had dripped down his neck and seeped into his shirt.

She took the rag and pressed it against his ear. He cried out, snatching her wrist and moving it away. The pain had dulled to numbness, but now he felt as if the side of his head was on fire. Any strength he had called upon before was now dwindling, and he suddenly felt exhausted. And he was beginning to feel a sense of hopelessness as well at the thought of his maimed ear. He had never given much thought to that trait before, but it was _his_ ears. It was _his_ ear.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He winced in pain.

“Lower your voice.”

He had one of the worst migraines of his life. And the combined pain of the headache with his injury was making him feel lightheaded and nauseous. He closed his eyes, trying to compose himself. _I will not go into shock. I will not go into shock_. He continually repeated. He had gone into shock before, and he remembered how ill he had felt because of it. He didn’t care how injured he became; he refused to experience that again.

Molly was having a hard time keeping her hands from trembling. She had only suggested this because she felt a need to speak with him. She needed to figure out where everything stood now; if killing O’Connell had worked like she thought it might, if Abe would be forgiven, if he suspected Mary of anything. She was also paranoid being in his quarters. Would he notice that she recognized the space? But even then, the space was nearly unrecognizable since last she was there; he had tidied up.

She continued to apply pressure to his head. His blood quickly soaked through the rag and she could feel the warm blood staining her own hand as well. His eyes were closed, and she was grateful they were not being forced to look at one another.

“How bad is it?” he finally said.

“I don’t think it’s my place to say.”

“I’ve already seen the remains of it on the desk. I couldn’t see what’s left though. There was too much blood.”

She had seen the remains of his ear on his desk, as well as his blood that was splattered on the wall beside the desk. Whatever had happened, Mary had proven herself to be a promising marksman. Just an inch to the left, and the bullet would’ve passed through his skull, and he would be dead.

“Can you still hear?” she asked.

He hesitated for a moment, and then he covered his unharmed ear with his hand. Then he said, “I can.”

“Then that’s all that matters.”

A beat.

“It does sound muffled though.” He added quietly.

Another beat,

“I suppose you are silently celebrating Robert Rogers’ success in wounding me.”

She froze. He was looking at her through hooded eyes. She knew he was tired, and she knew it was from the blood loss. She had experiences blood loss earlier that day; she understood.

“Don’t say that.” She said quietly.

“Why? It is the truth, is it not?”

“No. It’s not.”

She didn’t know where this was coming from, but it worried her. _Does he know something?_

“Thank you for doing this.” His speak was becoming slurred. “How is your shoulder?”

“It’s all right.”

He swallowed, “You know, for a minute there, I thought he had got me. I thought I was dead. But then I woke up… I want us to be honest with one another. Or, rather, I want to be honest with you…”

She suddenly felt uncomfortable. This didn’t sound anything like him. She remembered feeling drunk right before she fainted, and she wondered if he was experiencing the same phenomenon. He reached out and placed a hand on her forearm. She stopped her work, forced to looked at him now.

“Whatever you’re going to say, don’t.” she said quietly.

But he ignored the suggestion.

“I feel affection towards you…” Even in his daze, he recognized the expression on her face. He could tell she didn’t believe him, so he added, “Is it really so hard to believe?”

“Aye, it is.” She sounded defensive. She paused briefly, then said, “Why?”

He pouted; he didn’t understand.

“How do…” she was looking for the right words. “How do you benefit at all by choosing me?”

He scoffed, “Is that what you believe this is about? Mutual benefits?”

“What else would…” She lowered her voice. It was as if she was fearful they would be overheard. “Why would you choose me?”

What he said next surprised her.

“If anyone is the victim in all of this, it is you.”

She sat there for a long time, pondering his words. She supposed he was right. To an outsider, it did appear as if she was the victim; she had lost her fiancé, her friends, her brother, her family, her wealth, her home…

“I don’t want your pity.” She snapped.

He waved her off.

“Oh please,” he yawned. “I wouldn’t insult you so blatantly.” He stopped, trying to wake from his daze. He looked her in the face, “I was hesitant before, because I did not want my intentions to be misunderstood. But now that the two of us have very nearly seen the face of God on this day, I won’t delay anymore. I would like to offer you my protection.”

She stared at him in disbelief, her mouth falling agape slightly. She felt the same emotions as when Major Hewlett had offered his protection to herself and Anna. It didn’t matter that she was plotting his murder; Molly was not too prideful as to turn her nose up at the offer. She understood the implications of his words. Protection was one of the kindest things that could be extended to a single woman with no fortune, with no prospects.

“I always thought you favored Anna.” That was all she could think to say. “Everyone always favors Anna.”

A part of him wished that fact could be forgotten, but he knew it would not be so easy. It was his own doing, after all.

“I did.” He admitted. “At first. But then, when we began to speak more, I realized I favored your company above hers.”

“Even after how I spoke to you?”

“Especially then.” He smirked slightly, amused by the memory. “You’re beautiful when you’re angry.”

He hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but he had.

Molly felt a blush rising to her cheeks, and she could feel goosebumps rising on her flesh. Although she was a confidant woman, Molly Strong was not used to being shown kindness. She knew part of the fault was her own, that’s why she was so surprised at the genuity of his words. And she didn’t know what compelled her, but she wanted to show her gratefulness. She may hate him, but she was not to prideful to admit that he was a good ally to have.

“We are still allies, are we not?” he asked quietly, repeating the same words she had asked him all those months ago.

That was when she decided to close the space between them, and she pressed her lips against his. It was different than their first kiss. She was not tense, and he did not reach out to touch her. She was surprised at how gentle the kiss was. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but it wasn’t this. She pulled away after a few seconds.

Neither of them spoke again. She wordlessly finished her work; the stopped the bleeding, bandaged his head, and then left him to his own devices in his quarters. She made the short trip across the hall to her own bedroom, and she collapsed on her bed, feeling a new wave of exhaustion pass over her. She didn’t bother washing her hands; she was too tired. She fell asleep, her hands still stained with John’s blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drunk confessions are great and all, but I thought it might be fun to spice things up with a slightly-delirious-due-to-blood-loss confession :)


	9. 3x08

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This unintentionally ended up becoming a mammoth of a chapter. I hope you enjoy.

John prayed for death. He didn’t mean any of his words, but at the same time, if he did die right there, he knew it would be done out of mercy. Shortly after Molly Strong had finished bandaging his head and departed for the evening, his wound had reopened and bled completely through the dressings. He managed to get it to stop again, but not before smearing blood all over his uniform, and the bedsheets, and the doors of the wardrobe.

He wanted to be angry; he wanted to be filled with hatred towards Rogers, for maiming him. But in truth, he was scared. Scared that Rogers may return; he had underestimated him, and now John didn’t have any idea what to expect from his predecessor. He was scared for himself. His mind kept going to death. Was he dying? Was this what it felt like to die? Existing in torture and praying for the end?

His head was pounding so loudly, he thought he’d never know true silence again. He knew the pain would eventually dull, but he didn’t want to be patient. He was in agony. He had broken out in a cold sweat, and he suddenly couldn’t stand the feeling of his clothes sticking to him, and he had stripped out of them so that he was only in his breeches, shivering at the foot of his bed. And that’s when he was overwhelmed by the feeling of nausea, and he’d stumbled over to one corner of the room and emptied the contents of his stomach into the chamber pot. When he was finished, he fell back and sat on the floor, trembling. His throat burned from the vomit, and he could feel hot, frustrated tears streaming down his face.

He’d fallen back onto his bloodied bedsheets soon after, too exhausted to remain upright. And that’s where he’s been for the past hours, in and out of sleep, tossing and turning. His hand kept cramping where it was under the pillow, gripping his knife; his only defense if Rogers returned to finish him in his sleep.

He had finally drifted off again when he heard the door handle turn. He jolted awake, fumbling with the knife, instantly feeling lightheaded and nauseous from sitting up so quickly. But his anxieties quickly dispersed when he recognized the figure in the doorframe. It was Sergeant Odell. Neither man said a word as Odell stepped into the room with Aberdeen on his heels. John wanted to be self-conscious at his state-of-dress, but Aberdeen didn’t bat an eye. She wordlessly placed a bowl of water and cloths on the desktop, then she bowed her head slightly as she exited the room, closing the door behind her.

“O’Shaughnessy told me what happened.” Odell said quietly, peeling his coat off. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and dipped one of the rags into the bowl of water. He hesitated upon seeing the carnage on the desk. John hadn’t bothered to touch anything; the remains of his left ear were still on the desk, beside the bowl. But then Odell remembered himself and then he was beside John, who was still sat up in bed, and he began to wipe away the dried blood and examine his ear.

“Damn, the Major sure made a mess of you.” Odell said under his breath.

John groaned in response, flinching slightly under his touch.

“You’re not gonna like what I’ve to say, but it’s not a clean break.” The Sergeant continued.

Odell had no intentions of doing away with the entire ear. Most of it was still intact, it was just what _wasn’t_ that would cause problems. Washing it while it was healing was a concern. It could become infected, and if the infection spread to the Captain’s head… It wouldn’t be good. The earlobe was still intact; it was just the auricle that was mangled. It would have to be cut down almost to the skull. But the bottom part would remain, so it would not affect the Captain’s hearing too much, but the truth was that John wouldn’t hear the same as he once did.

During all this, Odell’s voice remained calm; he was used to seeing gore after all; and John was grateful for that. As an officer, John didn’t like picking favorites. He’d never say it aloud, but he favored Odell over the rest of his men. He liked him because Odell didn’t act afraid of him. John still remembered when he had first taken command of the Rangers. When the men learned he was former King’s Army, they had a fit. One of them had tried to kill him. And John admitted to himself that he found it strange that he was forced to lead them unconventionally through violence and fear, but it was the only way most of the men would listen to him. To earn their respect, he had to play upon their fears. All except Odell, who didn’t see a problem with whomever was his commanding officer. Odell followed orders all the same.

 _Not a clean break_. John knew what that meant. Odell was going to have to cut off more of his mangled ear, so that there were no uneven remains that would get snared on clothing, reopening the wound.

“Do you want a drink, Captain?” He was on his feet and at the dresser now, where John kept a few bottles of alcohol and some glasses. He didn’t wait for an answer and he filled a glass and handed it to John. As John accepted the glass, he hesitated. Odell knew what he meant, and he handed him the entire bottle as well. Then he found a place to sit on the bed and watched the Captain as he began to gulp down the amber liquid. He noticed that the Captain’s hand was shaking. John abandoned the glass after the first few drinks, and then brought the bottle to his lips.

“Careful there. Don’t want you being sick.” Odell knew the Captain had been sick. The smell of vomit stull hung in the air.

John glanced at him side-eyed and then took another long swig. He knew he was dangerously close to vomiting again, but he didn’t care. He wanted to… he needed to be drunk for what he knew was coming. If he didn’t separate himself from his sound mind, he knew he would protest and stop Odell from completing the task at hand. So he drank through the rest of the bottle, then he demanded the second bottle be handed to him.

He was nearly done with the second bottle when he felt a wave of dizziness pass over him. He assumed it was just from drinking too fast, and he continued, taking smaller sips at what remained in the bottle. But then he felt a new sensation. It was a mixture of deliriousness and exhaustion and numbness all at once. He decided to lay back down and wait for the feeling to pass, but his eyes were closed, and he became lost to the world the second his head hit the pillow. And that was when Odell got to work.

* * *

_Red. That was all she could see. Red. She knew she had to get out of there, she knew she needed to escape. She couldn’t see his face, but she was trying to get her mind back to images of Ben. But in that moment the last thing she wanted to be thinking about was Ben._

_She was atop of Lieutenant O’Connell again. Just like the day before. She was sat there, unmoving, but she could remember the way her body moved as she plunged the blade of the knife into O’Connell’s stomach. She remembered the fury that had settled deep in her gut and made her eyebrows narrow and her nose twitch. The feeling that made her bare her teeth when she decided she would kill him. She could remember her frustrated shouts as she continued to push the blade into him. The way the knife kept getting stuck in his flesh. The way she had to use all her strength to ensure the knife was lifted out and then right back into his chest. The way the blood gurgled from his mouth, and from the new openings in his chest. The way his arms had flailed. The way he kept pawing at her skirts, at her thighs, in desperation as he died._

_The memory was not linear. Images, feelings, kept coming in and out of focus. Everything was red. And then O’Connell was gone. But she remained. A thick layer of blood matting her arms, her dress. She wanted to be horrified of what she had done. She wanted to feel the same nausea she had felt upon killing MacInnis. But even that memory was becoming distorted. And the truth was, now. Now. She wasn’t sorry for what she had done. And that’s when she began to laugh. And she didn’t know why, but she couldn’t stop laughing._

* * *

Molly jolted awake, sitting up in bed. She cried out, the sudden movement causing a wave of pain to go through her shoulder. She was covered in a sheen of perspiration, and she was trembling. She had no idea why she had had that dream, or what her dream even meant, but it frightened her. _That’s not me_. She thought in a panic. _This isn’t me. This_ … She turned her head slightly and gasped upon seeing someone sat near her bed. It was a Ranger. She pulled the covers to her chest, trying to hide her state-of-undress. But the Ranger seemed unfazed by all this, and he lifted a hand indicating for her to relax.

“Morning.” He yawned. That’s when she noticed how tired he looked. He had dark circled under his eyes. In fact, he kept blinking, as if he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. And his uniform was disheveled. His coat was unbuttoned and his shirt was untucked and the fabric was rumpled.

“No need to look so frightened.” The man continued. She recognized him. He was the Ranger who had restrained her when Simcoe was holding a pistol to Abe’s head. She remembered his name was Odell. “And no need to be embarrassed. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

“I was the one who patched you up.” He explained.

She relaxed slightly.

“Thank you.” She wasn’t sure what else to say, so she added, “Were you waiting for me to wake?”

“Aye.” He nodded. He rose out of the chair and to his feet, shuffling to the dresser. He grabbed a few pieces of cloth. “Figured I outta change the dressings. See how you’re holding up.” He returned to her and took a seat beside her on the edge of the bed. She tensed slightly, becoming evermore aware at the fact that she was dressed only in her shift. He looked at her shoulder, gesturing with his chin for her to be the one to reveal the injury. She complied, pushing the fabric off her shoulder, but he didn’t motion to look at the dressings. He shot her a glance and raised his eyebrows slightly. That’s when she understood.

“Will you look away for a moment?” she asked quietly.

He nodded and averted his gaze. Molly pushed the fabric off her other shoulder and then shimmied the material down her body so that the fabric pooled at her waist. Then she returned her hands to the blankets and clutched them close to her form, to hide her bare chest.

“All right.”

Odell turned back and began to unwind the dressings her shoulder. Molly arched her neck, trying to give him room, but she couldn’t help glancing at his hands as he worked. And she couldn’t help noticing the dried blood that had seeped into the fabric he unfurled from her skin.

“How are you holding up?” Odell asked.

“I suppose alright. I’m alive, after all.”

He exhaled in amusement. “Aye. Suppose that’s well enough.”

Her injury was exposed now, but she couldn’t get a good look at it. It was too high up on her shoulder and she couldn’t crane her neck enough to see it. Odell probed at her skin for a second. She quietly winced; she was sore. He was satisfied with his work.

“Just as I thought.” He deadpanned. “You’ll live.” He grinned at his own comment, and the gesture made Molly smile as well. Then Odell got to work rebandaging her shoulder. He kept talking, “You’ll be stiff for a while. Not sure how long, but you’ll know when you’ll be fully healed.”

“How will I know?”

“You’ll finally be able to lift your arm completely above your head again.”

“And if something happens and I can’t?”

Odell smirked, “Then you best hope Major Rogers doesn’t get ahold of me. If I’m still breathing by then, I’ll see what I can do about it.”

They had only exchanged a few words, but she already liked him. And she was suddenly grateful she had not spoken to O’Connell like this. Because she knew she would’ve lost her nerve and O’Connell would still be alive right now.

“I suppose it’s not safe for me to return to the tavern.” She commented. She wanted to speak with him more. Talking helped her forget how shaken she had been after her dream.

“That’s right.”

“Has anyone informed Mr. DeJong?”

“Corporal Fitch was sent yesterday. He was one of the lads who found you on the road, so he said it’d be fitting that he tell Mr. DeJong about your injury. But of course, that was before he returned here and…” his voice trailed off.

“And what?” she asked.

“The Major got him too. Same way he got Lieutenant O’Connell.”

Molly felt her stomach churn. She remembered what Mary had said, “ _I killed a Ranger_ ”. Fitch must’ve been that Ranger. But Odell said that Rogers had gotten him in the same way. What did that mean? She had stabbed O’Connell to death, did that mean… It must mean what she thought it did. She tried to imagine Mary stabbing someone to death, but she couldn’t conjure up the image… Molly felt a pain of guilt upon hearing that Fitch had been one of the men to find her. He had helped carry her here, and that was how he had been repaid.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice sounded hollow. “I didn’t know.” She licked her lips which were still cracked and dry from sleep. And as she did so, another detail of last night came back to her, and it made her think of another pair of lips. “How’s the Captain?”

Odell shrugged, “About as well as a man can be for having his ear shot off.”

She nodded slowly, but she was lost in thought now, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she did so. She remembered her head feeling foggy last night. And she remembered the feelings of panic and anger and exhaustion and shock that had worked through her as she heard the words: “ _I feel affection towards you_ …” That and the fact that he offered to protect her; that she was now under his protection. She didn’t know how to feel about any of this. On one hand, she was still planning on killing him, so then his words would mean nothing. He would be dead soon. But on the other hand… She wondered if this was how Anna felt when she formed her friendship with Hewlett. Before that, Anna despised the man, but then something happened. Anna had genuinely liked Hewlett, and that only made it harder for her when Abe tried to kill him. Molly didn’t want that to happen to her. She didn’t want to get to know her victim. She wished she could feel the same way she did years ago, when she was filled with nothing but dislike for Simcoe, but she couldn’t deny that she needed to figure out how this new detail would factor into her plans.

Odell finished his work and departed not long after. As soon as he was gone, she loosened her clutch on the blanket, letting it fall, and she began pulling her shift back into place. She had no clue what she was going to do, but one thing was certain: She was starving.

* * *

John didn’t know what compelled him, but he decided he wanted to go down to breakfast. It was late in the morning. The Judge and Mary Woodhull were both off doing whatever it was they did to occupy their day, so John was looking forward to eating alone. Between feeling so ill and the hangover, he was starving. When he entered the dining room, the last person he expected to see was Molly Strong. She was alone at the table scarfing down food. From the assortment of dishes surrounding her place, she was just as famished as he was.

She met his gaze as he took a seat across from her at the table. There was still quite a bit of food in the center of the table, so John didn’t bother calling upon Aberdeen. He served himself. Both Molly and John sat there wordlessly as they ate. He found himself glancing up at her, but she refused to meet his gaze, and he was almost glad because he was certain she would notice that he was staring at her lips. He was still trying to make sense of what had happened the previous evening, but his memories were foggy. He had been overwhelmed by pain, and he knew he wasn’t making much sense. But the last thing he expected was for her to gift him a kiss. He had no idea what had compelled her. Was it pity? Because he didn’t want her pity. But he was certain that was why she had closed the space between them.

She used few manners while she ate, shoveling food into her mouth and drinking heartily from her teacup; she was hardly using utensils, instead using a piece of bread to mop up what was left on her plate before reaching out and helping herself to seconds, thirds. As strange as it may seem, he was grateful for it, because he was in no mood to behave as simply a houseguest. That was what he missed most about England, about home; he missed being master of his own house, missed being alone.

He never had to think anything of it when it was just him at Whitehall. He was secretly glad that the Magistrate disliked him so. The older man was constantly retiring to his quarters, giving John and his men reign of the house. As for Mrs. Woodhull, she was always coming and going, and even when she was there, she was doing something to busy herself, and she was quiet as well. But whenever Molly was at the house… He didn’t know why, but he had always felt as if he needed to walk on eggshells around her. She knew much more than she let on, about all sorts of subjects, but she seemed to be content in keeping those things to herself.

He remembered when he was staying at her home, Strong Manor. He hadn’t paid much thought to her then, and he had only stayed in her home for a week or so, but recently he found himself trying to remember details of his stay there. But all he could remember was his memories of the investigation into Captain Joyce’s death. That and the fact that he had still been seeking the attention of Anna Strong. That was another thing he had been thinking about recently; Why had he sought the attention of Anna? Molly was another ample candidate – Heck, she was perhaps a better candidate. When he tried to consider all that had happened, he could never imagine casually discussing the morality of slavery with Anna. Just as he could never imagine asking Anna to be his confidant. She had too much of a history with the Woodhulls, a family he was beginning to despise more and more. But, of course, Molly had a history with the Brewsters and Tallmadges… just thinking about those two now made his blood boil. Tallmadge… How Molly ever felt affection towards that man… Just the thought made his stomach church. Trying to imagine her pressing her lips to Tallmadge’s. Trying to imagine the two of them, engaged, with their bodies tangled together… The more he thought about the subject, the more frustrated he always became, because he shouldn’t be thinking about things like this. He shouldn’t care about Molly Strong, the poor farmgirl. He shouldn’t care about her past; he shouldn’t have this urge to ask her countless questions; he shouldn’t want to understand her; and he certainly shouldn’t be admitting in a moment of deliriousness that he found her attractive and that he felt affection towards her. He felt as if he was losing his mind! – but he hadn’t even considered her as an option.

Although Molly had been at the dining table before him, she was still eating when he decided he was full. He supposed it made sense; she had gone into shock, after all. He remained in his seat, beginning what was his fourth cup of tea; although it was more sugar than tea. – Sugar was a luxury he rarely had during his time being stationed haphazardly around the colonies, and during his time being passed back and forth to be quartered at different households. But he was well aware that money was no object to the Magistrate, so he allowed himself to indulge.

He tried not to stare at her, knowing how he would feel if their roles were reversed, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering to her shoulder, where he knew under the material of her dress, her shoulder was still wounded and bandaged. He almost wished she would say something, but she refused to meet his gaze as she continued eating. He wished she would say something because he was uncertain what to say. He remembered well the words (and the kiss) they had exchanged the previous night, but he decided he would be stubborn, and he would not acknowledge those words until first she did.

He was also uncertain what to say because, in a way, he felt pride towards her. He was unsure how to explain it to her, but he felt as if she was one of his men. She had survived her first battle, in a way, and she had received a red badge of courage. If she was a soldier, that was no small feat. But she was a civilian, a woman… No, she wouldn’t understand if he tried to explain it. Finally, he decided he had rested enough, and he rose to his feet, leaving her at the table. He had things to attend to.

* * *

As soon as Simcoe was out of sight, Molly let out a sigh of relief and leaned back in her chair, resting her hands on her stomach. She had nearly finished her breakfast when he had first come into the room. Not wanting to leave him and appear rude, she had pretended she still had an appetite and managed to gulp down more food. Her plan was to eat as a way to avoid conversation with him. And while she was glad he did not bring up what transpired last night, her gladness was now overshadowed by the fact that she had eaten way too much, and she now felt like throwing up.

She let out a heavy sigh and rose from her chair. She needed to walk around, to settle her stomach. She briefly considered going to the library, but then she heard a small noise coming from the parlor. She recognized it as coming from Thomas.

“What are you doing out of bed?”

Molly suppressed the urge to roll her eyes as she entered the parlor. Mary was there, sewing, with Thomas playing beside her on the settee. Molly hadn’t seen her friend since last night when Mary was in her bath.

“And why are you dressed?” Mary continued. She was concerned, but she was keeping her voice down.

“I got hungry.” Molly mumbled in response, lightly nudging Thomas so he would move and she could sit beside him.

“Aberdeen would’ve brought you something. You should’ve asked.”

Molly tiredly scowled in response.

It felt strange; being cross with Mary. Molly knew how ridiculous it would sound, but she was still annoyed at her friend. When she considered everything that had happened over the past day, she realized that most of the blame could be placed on Abe and Mary. It was Abe’s fault that Rogers stayed in town as long as he did; and it was Abe’s fault that Rogers had gone to the Townsends. As for Mary, she was responsible for what had transpired last night. If she hadn’t shot Simcoe, Molly wouldn’t’ve been startled from her slumber, and she wouldn’t have wandered downstairs. In turn, Simcoe would not have been injured, so there would be no need for Molly to offer to bandage his head. And then he wouldn’t have said the things he did last night. And she wouldn’t have kissed him. And she wouldn’t be doubting herself right now.

Mary tried changing subjects, “How are you?”

“About as well as one can be for being shot in the shoulder.” She repeated the same words Odell had said earlier. She liked the Sergeant’s bluntness. It was comforting in a way. “Have you heard anything about Abe?”

Mary leaned forward slightly, keeping her voice just above a whisper. “He’s still at our farm. Simcoe’s not letting him leave the property.”

“He’s alive though?”

Mary furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “Yes, he’s alive.”

“Has he said anything to you? …Simcoe. Does he suspect?”

“No. He suspects nothing. He still thinks it was Robert Rogers who killed his men and hurt the two of you.” A beat. “What are we to do? Do you have any ideas?”

Molly scoffed in disbelief.

“You can’t be serious.” But Mary was. “Mary, it’s only been hours since you-” she paused and looked around to ensure they were alone, “Since you shot him. We need to be patient.” _So I can kill him myself_. But she didn’t say that aloud.

Mary considered those words for a moment, then she nodded. She knew Molly was right, but Mary was still anxious from last night. She had hardly slept at all after she had hidden the evidence of what sin she had committed. Mary shook her head lightly, trying to push the subject, “Fine. Fine.” She let out a sigh. “At least Abe’s father cannot say a word about you being here. Simcoe’s ordered that neither of us leave the estate until our safety can be assured.”

“Well that’s a relief.” Molly deadpanned.

Their conversation trailed off after that. Both women were too preoccupied by their thoughts and with the secrets they refused to entrust to one another.

* * *

This was John’s least favorite part of being an officer: Writing to the families of his fallen men. They had buried O’Connell and Fitch that morning. It was bothersome enough that both men had succumbed to injuries brought on by Robert Rogers; almost as bothersome as the fact that they were now buried in an unmarked grave on the grounds near Whitehall; on an island, countless miles from their homes. He finished the letter quickly enough; letter, singular. He wrote to O’Connell’s sister. He did not write to Fitch’s next of kin, for the man did not have any.

With that task done, John felt a new wave of exhaustion. Odell said this might happen after the brief operation done on his ear. He said it was best to get rest. He could still hear Odell’s words. _“You lost a lot of blood. Wait a few days, then you should be closer to normal.”_ John wasn’t satisfied with that, though. He wanted to be doing something. He needed to be outside, relaying orders and leading his men. He wanted to be the one to head the search in the woods for Rogers. He needed to find him and take care of that problem once and for all. He wanted to do all those things, but at the same time he could hardly stand without feeling lightheaded, and that frightened him. He knew it was best to recover from his injury. Wait just a few days, then some normalcy could return.

* * *

He was avoiding her. That much Molly was certain of. It had been a week since receiving her injury, and Molly was finally permitted to return to the tavern. She hadn’t seen Simcoe since that first morning at breakfast; the man had hidden himself in his quarters during the duration of her stay, and that worried her. It worried her because she had no idea what he was doing

The only thing keeping her anxiety at bay was the fact she was working again. In lieu of her injury, her duties were limited compared to before. She couldn’t do any heavy lifting, and she still had limited mobility in her injured shoulder, so she was mainly responsible for refilling drinks and clearing away mugs from tables. DeJong was busying himself by doing everything else. Despite everything that had happened, Molly would admit that it was a nice break. Or at least it _was_ a nice break, until one evening she went down to the cellar to ensure that everything was put away. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard a familiar sound.

“Pst.”

And she knew instantly who it was.

“What the hell are you still doing here?” she hissed, closing the cellar door behind her.

From behind the barrels of ale and into the lantern light was Caleb Brewster.

“What? Is that any way to treat a guest?” he grinned.

“Caleb!”

She wished she could say she was glad to see him. But that would be a lie. As soon as she warned him in the woods, she expected him to find his boat again and flee across the Sound. But seeing him here… She felt anxiety like she had not felt before. What if DeJong came down to check on her? What if they were discovered here? Worse yet, Caleb had snuck into the middle of town. What if someone saw him? What if they knew he was down here right now?

“C’mon!” Caleb’s tone remained lighthearted. “It’s Christmas!” The upcoming holiday was just an excuse, but it did nothing to ease her anxieties. Molly still had a scowl on her face, and Caleb found her demeanor more annoying than anything else. He knew they were at war, and he knew they were both in danger of being discovered, but he still missed when she used to be excited when she saw him. He rolled his eyes, “The Rangers got to my boat, alright? What was I supposed to do?”

“Steal Robeson’s boat.” She didn’t hesitate to respond.

“That’s the same thing Woody said.”

John Robeson may be a farmer, but he was a fisherman too. And it had been too cold for him to go out on the water. His boat was at the cove near his house. He wouldn’t be using it for at least another month, and he certainly wouldn’t immediately notice if his boat disappeared.

“You need to get out of here. You should already be out of here.”

Caleb scoffed, “You’re joking, right? After you came to me in the shape you were in, there was no way in Hell I was leaving. I had to make sure the lot of you were alright.”

“Well, we are. You need to worry about yourself now.”

“Listen, Woody and the Missus can’t come. Woody’s decided on that. Besides, that wife of his can look out for the both of them. She's the crazy one.”

Molly furrowed her eyebrows together.

“What?”

“Yeah, that's what I thought when I saw her at Whitehall running around with that rifle.”

Molly stepped forward and grasped the collar of his coat.

“You saw that?” she hissed.

He chuckled, “Yeah, and the little lady sure gave our favorite Captain quite the souvenir.”

Molly couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Who else saw it?” she demanded, shaking his roughly. “Did anyone else see her?”

“Hey, that’s enough.” Caleb pushed her away. “Now, Moll, you’re coming with me.”

“I am not.” She was the one scoffing now.

“And why not?”

“Because I have a plan.”

“What kind of plan?”

A beat.

“…I can’t tell you.”

“Does Abe know?” She wouldn’t answer. “Would you quit being so stubborn?”

“Ben still trusts me, doesn’t he? _You_ still trust me, don’t you?”

Caleb quietly fumed for a second.

“Fine, fine. You’re right.” He admitted.

“I’m sorry for being so cross. You– God, you scared me to death.”

“What? And I wasn’t scared to death? How are you? I mean, you look to be in one piece now.”

“I’m fine. Honestly, I’m fine.”

“Good…” Caleb smirked, trying to lighten the mood again. “Now would I be out of line if I troubled you for some food?”

She found herself relaxing slightly. “You’ll leave first thing, right?” He shrugged. “Right? Caleb!”

He chuckled, “I will.”

She turned back to the cellar door. She would go fetch some food and be right back. But then he added,

“Oh, and Moll.”

She hesitated and turned back to look at him.

“Happy Christmas.”

She mechanically said it back to him, even though she knew this Christmas would probably be just as unhappy as the previous few had been.

* * *

**December 25, 1778**

John hunched his shoulders in discomfort as another burst of winter wind ripped at his uniform. He didn’t realize how cold it actually was until Whitehall was already out of his sight. That was why he had decided against taking a horse. But he was regretting that decision now as he continued down the main road, and as the first snow flurries of the year began to fall around him. He was suddenly grateful for his vanity. The remains of his ear was nearly healed, and there was no reason to continue wearing a bandage, but he was ashamed of his wound, and he decided he would continue to keep his head bandaged until he could grow out his hair enough to cover the scarring.

He hadn’t intended to make this trip. Days earlier, he vaguely remembered Mary Woodhull making a comment about inviting Ms. Strong for the holiday, and he assumed it was decided. But then came that morning, and there was no sign of Ms. Strong. And that’s when he learned that she had declined the invitation to Whitehall. And that’s when he decided to leave the festivities and trek to the tavern.

His teeth were still slightly chattering when he stepped through the threshold and took in the scene of the bar. It was early afternoon, and few locals were scattered around the room. The tavern was filled with redcoats, Wakefield’s men who had the afternoon off. And they chatted noisily amongst each other. He noticed one of his Rangers on the opposite side of the room; Corporal O’Shaughnessy. He was the man John had ordered to watch after the tavern today.

It took him a moment to locate Ms. Strong, but then he saw her across the room. She had a pitcher in her hand, and she was conversing with two redcoats. She was laughing, and he knew the men were flirting with her. He didn’t make a move to approach her, instead he walked to the bar and stood there, waiting. A few minutes later, she returned to her place behind the bar, to refill her pitcher. When she met his gaze, any hint of friendliness was gone from her expression.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“And a Happy Christmas to you as well.” He paused. “I came to have a drink.”

She procured a mug and filled it to the brim with ale, then she placed it in front of him. He lifted the cups to his lips and that’s when she added,

“Have you been avoiding me?”

He was glad he had not yet taken a drink, because he was sure he would’ve choked. He placed the mug back on the bar.

“Not you alone.” He admitted.

And that was the truth. He had been avoiding everyone lately. He knew it was foolish, but he was embarrassed by his injury.

“Have you found him?” she blurted.

“Who?”

“Rogers.”

“No.” A beat. “While I was recovering, my men scoured this town as well as neighboring areas. There is no sign of him.”

“Do you think he’s still on the island?”

“Hard to say.” He had had the thought before, but he hated how the only think they ever talked about was the war. But even though he thought that, it didn’t stop him from asking a question that had been on his mind, “This business with Rogers, you said you had no involvement with it?”

Her expression changed, almost as if she was hurt by what he was implying.

“Aye. I didn’t know.”

“The insinuations Woodhull made…” John lowered his voice. “Does he understand the severity of his accusation?” He sighed. He had been pondering that a lost lately; Could she be involved? At first, he thought it a possibility, but the more he thought of it… He was unsure. It would be strange to involve her. As Woodhull said, Rogers had threatened him with the knowledge of his affair with Anna Strong. As for Robeson, he discovered the man was queer. But what could one threaten Molly Strong with? She had little to give. What knowledge could be held against her? The fact that her fiancé and her brother were rebels? But that was not a secret. It was common knowledge. No, it didn’t make sense for Rogers to involve her in this; she had no influence, no power.

“What of you? Do you think it could be true?”

She was barely speaking above a whisper now, “All I know is that if it were true, no one would be too keen to involve me.”

“Woodhull mentioned John Robeson.”

“What of it?”

“That is the man responsible for your brother’s arrest, is he not?”

She hesitated, and he could tell she was uncertain how to respond. But he knew it was the truth. He was in the tavern the day of her brother’s arrest. He remembered the verbal confrontation that had taken place. He remembered the way Robeson had shoved Selah Strong into Captain Joyce. And that set all this into motion.

He continued, “We’ve spoken in the past of a plot involving the Magistrate and Hewlett, and perhaps how they may have plotted with Rogers. But what if perhaps it was part of some larger conspiracy to weed out the rebels in this town? Like your brother, for instance.”

“Leave my brother out of this.” She snapped.

He was taken aback. He could see the fury forming in her eyes, and that’s when he realized, they had never spoken of her family before. Never spoken of her brother. He remembered when he returned from his capture, Hewlett made the comment that the Strong women were still adamant to hear news of Selah Strong. He remembered when they believed the man to have perished on _the Jersey_. He, of course, hadn’t thought much of it. He never thought much of it, and now he felt foolish for self-obsessed he had once been. He thought briefly of his own brother, Percy – God rest his soul. He tried to imagine how he may feel about the subject if it was applied to his own brother. If Percy was arrested and then believed to be dead, and then his brother’s reputation besmirched forever. John decided he would be angry as well.

“Apologies.” He said awkwardly.

“And will you stop speaking of conspiracies?” she added, her voice strained. “What does any of that have to do with me? I’ve just a tavern wench,”

He cringed slightly upon hearing her refer to herself like that.

“Regardless, I don’t plan on doing anything until the New Year.” He tried to steer the conversation in a different direction. “I will give your neighbors their holiday, but that is all.” A beat. “Why did you decline the invitation to Whitehall?” He noticed her confused expression and quickly added, “Mrs. Woodhull made a comment.”

“I had to work.” She said slowly. She seemed confused at where their conversation was going, but John hoped that wouldn’t deter her from continuing. “Besides, I figured it may be for the best if we had some… distance.”

“If this has anything to do with the kiss you bestowed upon me, know that I thought nothing of it.” He internally swore. His tone was borderline frantic, but he didn’t want a detail as minor as _that_ to end their friendship.

“Really?” she sounded surprised.

“I certainly wasn’t of sound mind, and I doubt you were either. Besides, I agree with you on one matter, I don’t want your pity.”

Her expression softened, and she almost looked sad.

“No.” she said quietly. “I didn’t do it out of pity, I –” She stopped herself, but she couldn’t think of the right words. “I don’t know… Besides, it’s not like it was the first time or anything.”

He scoffed in amusement, but then felt self-conscious realizing that that detail was probably not amusing to her. His tone became sober again.

“I’ve never apologized for that. I do hope you can forgive me.”

She smirked, and that’s when he realized that she had never smiled around him before.

“I forgive you.” She was struggling to hold her grin at bay. “Besides, it was almost worth it when I saw your expression after you declared Major Hewlett to be dead, but then he walked into the tavern.”

John held his breath. _She knows_. He thought in disbelief. _This entire time, she knew I was the one who framed Hewlett to the rebels. I was the one who tried to kill him when the rebels failed to._ And that frightened him, because if she knew _that_ , what else did she know?

* * *

**January 1779**

Just as he’d said, John give the townspeople their holiday. But now he was tired of waiting. It was the start of the year, he was to have no mercy upon them. He went alone, to Woodhull’s farm, and as much as he dreaded speaking with Abraham Woodhull, he knew he had to. As his horse approached the shack, he noticed Woodhull was already outside. His man, Sergeant Cavil, stood to attention.

“Cavil, you're to stand down from your post. I require you for a guard duty.” John said calmly. He had stopped his horse beside Woodhull, amused at how short, the already short man, looked beside him.

“What happened?” Woodhull stammered. He was looking anxiously between John and Cavil. “Did he do that to you?” _He_ as in Rogers. Woodhull pointed to the bandage wrapped tightly around John’s head.

John ignored the comment.

“You said Rogers had you watching someone. Tell me again, who was it?”

“My wife and child. How are they?”

“Answer the question.”

“Answer mine.”

John rolled his eyes. He supposed it only made sense. Of course, Woodhull would’ve heard about the assault upon Ms. Strong and the attack upon Whitehall. He had specifically ordered his men not to give the man any details though. John didn’t trust Woodhull.

“Mrs. Woodhull braved the entire assault from her bathtub.” John shrugged, “I believe the boy slept through it.”

Woodhull didn’t hesitate with his answer, “It was John Robeson, as I already told you.”

“Would you swear to that on the lives of your wife and child?”

“And on my own.”

John and Cavil exchanged a look.

“Come with us.”

* * *

“I knew it. Bloody well knew it. Washington's made a pact with the devil. He's promised Rochambeau if the rebels win, the French can help themselves to all of New England.”

“Allemachtig! Are you saying across the sound would be France?”

“It ain't ever gonna happen, though.”

Molly rolled her eyes from where she was across the room. For the past hour she had been forced to endure listening to Mr. DeJong, Mr. Smythe, and Mr. Robeson discussing politics. Robeson had become interested in the opinion pieces written in _the Royal Gazette_ and that was all the men could seem to talk about. This was exactly what she meant when she said she heard old news. All the men were talking about were rumors which were more fiction than fact at this point. It was nothing she could use, and she was trying her best to ignore them and focus on sweeping the tavern floor. She was briefly chilled as the door opened and someone entered, but she didn’t bother turning her head. But then she noticed that Robeson and DeJong’s conversation had faltered, and then she heard a familiar voice.

“Excuse us.”

It was Simcoe. And on his heels were two of his Rangers, Sergeants Cavil and Boone, as well as Abe Woodhull. They approached the table where DeJong and Robeson were, and the men began to disperse.

“Not you.” Simcoe said shoving Robeson back into his seat. “I know you killed Captain Joyce.”

The scene had Molly’s full attention now, and she quietly stepped forward, to better see and hear everything.

“What?” Robeson asked in confusion. “No, no, no. It was Clayton, the company drummer.”

“That's what Robert Rogers said to protect you. Isn't that right, Woodhull?”

Abe nodded, and Molly wished he would look in her direction. But he refused. He looked tense. Robeson looked over a Abe as well, and that’s when he blurted,

“It was him. He's the one trying to cover his–”

“Where is Robert Rogers?” Simcoe demanded.

“I swear I haven't seen him in years.”

“Then where's your boat?”

“My boat?” Robeson stuttered.

“The one you used to smuggle on the London trade,” Simcoe’s voice was calm, and it was the same calm anger he had used when he spoke to Judge Woodhull all those weeks ago, “the boat he used to evade me. We found his craft near Frog's Cove. When we searched for yours, we found it missing.”

“My boat's gone?” Robeson sounded outraged. Then he composed himself enough to add, “Listen it wasn’t Rogers. It was _him_.” He pointed at Abe. “He’s the one who threatened me.”

Simcoe chuckled darkly, “Then it was Woodhull who kill Captain Joyce?”

“No, it was her.”

Molly blinked in surprise as Robeson moved his arm so that he was pointing at her.

“Me?” she scoffed.

“Woodhull’s been covering for her because she’s friends with that wife of his.” Robeson was on his feet now, and he pushed past Simcoe, approaching her now.

“Robeson, you know that’s not true.” She didn’t know what else to say. What could she say? She couldn’t believe he would blatantly lie like this. Robeson reached out and roughly grabbed her arm. She winced, his fingers digging into her skin.

“Joyce was the one who arrested your brother. And we all know how you are when someone insults your brother.”

She could feel herself panicking now. She had no one. She was all alone, with no family, few friends, and no one was speaking up for her. She was terrified.

“Let go of me.” She whimpered.

It became quiet when they heard the hammer of a gun being pulled back. Robeson loosened his grip on her, and he turned back in the direction of the Rangers, just in time for Simcoe to raise his pistol and fire. The bullet tore through Robeson’s throat and he stood there in shock, a hand fumbling to stop the blood from pouring out of him. He had completely released Molly now, and she didn’t know how to react, so she stood there silently, her mouth agape in shock. And that’s when Simcoe grabbed the second pistol from his best, and he fired a second shot and that bullet imbedded itself in Robeson’s head. Molly blinked, feeling his blood splatter across her face. Robeson hesitated briefly, then his body crumpled to the floor, and he law unmoving, blood pooling around his form. They all knew he was dead.

Everyone in the room had their eyes fixed on what used to be John Robeson. Molly didn’t know what to think. On one hand, she had never been fond of Robeson. And it was true that he was responsible for Selah’s arrest. But on the other hand, she had known the man her entire life, it didn’t seem right to die the way he did. They all turned their attention back to Simcoe when he spoke,

“It was in self-defense. You all saw that.” He lied, defending his actions.

Simcoe’s men didn’t hesitate to walk over and move Robeson’s corpse.

“Not the first time I've had to carry him out of here.” Cavil chuckled, and Molly envied him for being able to make a joke of this situation.

“Spent a lot of time in the tavern, did he?” Simcoe asked.

“You'd think he owned the place.” Boone replied.

Cavil: “Aye.”

Molly felt as if everything was moving in slow motion. No one asked her how she was, no one made a move to reassure her of anything. She stood there by herself, her boots and the bottom of her dress becoming stained with blood as Robeson’s blood spread further across the floor. All she could do was stand there, her breathing shaky, as she took in what was happening around her.

“Robeson was your best customer?” Simcoe asked, approaching DeJong.

“I wouldn't say so, no.” DeJong stammered. He sounded scared. “He owed me money.”

“Then why didn't you collect?” he smirked, “Woodhull was watching Robeson. Robeson was watching you.”

“What?”

“He knew all their dirty secrets. And yours.”

“What secret?”

“The one you're going to tell me.”

“But I don't... I don't have any...”

Simcoe lashed out and grabbed DeJong by the collar of his coat, shoving him against the railing to the nearby staircase.

“My rum, my rum!” DeJong yelped. “I buy it from a privateer.”

“The London Trade?”

“Yeah, yeah. The black market. That's all I did. I swear! I don't even know Roger Roberts.”

There was more commotion as Simcoe tightened his grip on DeJong and began to drag him out of the tavern. His men followed behind him, dragging Robeson’s corpse between them. Molly knew she could go to the door. See what was happening. But she was rooted where she stood, feeling as if she couldn’t move. And then Abe was beside her.

“You alright?” he asked quietly.

She moved her mouth to form words, but nothing came out. He said something else, but she couldn’t quite remember what, and then he was walking outside to see what was happening. She could hear shouting outside. She could hear DeJong pleading,

“Please don't kill me! Please help me! I'm innocent!”

She could hear Simcoe shouting, but she couldn’t make out everything he was saying.

“…People of Setauket, pay close attention. Which of these people did Rogers command you to watch? I want names! … I want names! … You're scared of Robert Rogers. But you should be scared of me... Whatever he's threatened you with is nothing compared to what I will do unless those aiding and abetting him come forward… I will raze this town if I must!”

And then he was back in the tavern, and he was approaching her. And she wanted to be frightened. She knew she should be. She had just seen him kill a man in cold blood. But when she looked at him now, she didn’t feel any fear. She felt something else… she wasn’t sure how to describe it.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

She nodded her head. He reached into his coat and produced a handkerchief, then he offered it to her.

“Your face.” Was all he said, and she knew what he meant. She accepted the cloth and wiped Robeson’s blood from her face before handing it back to him.

She wanted to thank him, she knew she should be thanking him. But she didn’t know what to say. She felt so conflicted about so many things, and she could feel doubt seeping into every single one of her thoughts.

“I-I need some air.” She managed to say.

He nodded, not pressing the matter, and then she stepped around him and exited the tavern. She hesitated upon seeing Robeson’s body flung on the ground beside the door. She didn’t feel nauseous though, it was a different sort of feeling. She saw DeJong, on his knees a few yards from her. He was crying and trembling, but she felt no pity towards him.

She began to wander aimlessly away from the tavern, to compose herself, that’s when she noticed Abe across the main square. He was stood beside a horse, speaking with a short man with a wide brimmed hat and a cloak. She furrowed her eyebrows, unsure of what to make of anything, but then she saw Abe walk back towards the tavern. He didn’t walk inside though; he went over to a horse, and he mounted it. Then he began to ride in the direction of the main road, and his farm. She looked back across the space at the short man, and he had mounted his horse as well. Several minutes passed, and then he began to ride in the same direction as Abe. And she knew he was following him. But she didn’t understand what was happening, and she didn’t know what compelled her, but she found her legs moving, and she was walking in the direction of the main road as well, following Abe and the man in the wide brimmed hat.

She was outside of town and by her lonesome on the main road when she realized what the feeling was that she was feeling. She was aroused. And it was strange to admit that to herself, but that was the truth. She wanted to be disgusted with herself, especially knowing which person it was that made her feel this way. Yet she felt that way, even after the violence she had witnessed. And that frightened her. For a moment, she thought perhaps she was going mad.

She recognized both Abe and the stranger’s horses beside Abe’s farmhouse, and she knew they were both there, so she altered her path and carefully approached the location. She could hear their voices long before she saw them.

“I'm serious. Eye for an eye.”

“Caleb, he's a Quaker. He doesn't believe–”

She heard a fist come into contact with flesh, and she heard Caleb let out a grunt.

“Jesus! Knew I loved this bastard.” Caleb laughed.

And that’s when Molly stepped into view.

“Molly?” Caleb asked.

The stranger: “Who is she?”

Abe: “What are you doing here? Were you followed?”

He sounded frantic.

“No, it’s just me.” Molly’s voice still sounded hollow. She looked at the stranger, and she could tell he was trying to size her up. “Who’s this?”

“Culper, Jr.” Caleb said.

“Good to meet you, Mr. Townsend.” Molly stuck out her hand, and Townsend awkwardly shook it. She didn’t bother questioning anything. She knew she wasn’t fully in the loop, and she was beginning to accept that.

“Madam.” He nodded uncertainly, looking towards Abe.

“Don’t worry.” Abe reassured him. “She’s one of us. She’s Tallmadge’s fiancée.”

Upon hearing him say that, Molly remembered herself, and she suddenly felt disgusted for everything that had just transpired in her mind. Ben hadn’t even crossed her mind. How could she be so disloyal to him? How could she even think about feeling aroused towards a man like Simcoe? No, it was just a lapse in judgement. Because she was frightened. That’s all it was.

“Robert, you need to start talking.” Abe said to Townsend, trying to continue their conversation. “We thought you were out.”

“I am. But this is bigger than me.” He produced a paper from inside his coat. “This needs to get to Washington with haste. They know where your camp is. It's only a matter of time.”

 _Ben_. Molly thought in horror. He was in danger.

“Shite.” Caleb breathed. “Well, I got Robeson's boat stashed at the Fingers.”

Abe: “I heard. Simcoe thought he lent it to Rogers. Killed Robeson right in front of me and Molly.”

“Jesus. Well, let's grab your family and get you out of here.”

“No.”

“No?”

Abe: “No. Townsend is right. There's no time to waste, all right? You'll be faster without us.”

“Woody, I'm not leaving here without you. Same goes for you, Moll. No more delaying.”

Abe: “I can't go, Caleb. I can't go as it stands. Simcoe, he's chasing a ghost. I'm the one who set him off. He will burn down Setauket.”

“No, he will burn you.” Caleb snapped. “That is what he'll do.”

Abe: “Look, this man had every reason to run, all right?” He was talking about Townsend. “But instead he ran to us. 'Cause he's the only man who could. Now, if you don't get this to Washington, who will?” A beat. “If I don't stand up to Simcoe, who will?”

Molly perked up upon hearing that, and that’s when she realized she couldn’t keep her secret anymore.

“Wait, Abe, wait.”

“What?”

“ _I’m_ planning to kill Simcoe.”

Abe’s brow furrowed in confusion and Caleb burst out laughing.

“What?”

“Is this that plan you were telling me about?” Caleb asked.

“You knew?” Abe demanded.

“Moll said she had a plan, but I never would’ve guessed it was something like this.”

She had all three men’s attention. Even Townsend’s, who didn’t know what exactly was happening.

“I can do it.” She said decidedly. “I just need more time.”

Abe: “Molly, you saw him in there. We’re lucky he didn’t turn on you right there. You need to get out of here too.”

She brushed aside the warning. She was aware of how she was becoming like Icarus. She knew she was flying too close to the sun.

“I just need more time.” She repeated.

“No, Moll–”

“We’ll set a date then. If he’s still alive by that date, feel free to do whatever you see fit.”

Caleb and Abe both exchanged a look.

“Can you do it in… I don’t know… a week?” Abe asked.

“No. That’s not long enough.”

“Then when? When do you think it’ll be over?”

“Give me…” She paused, trying to think of any date. “Give me until Ben’s birthday.”

February 25th. They knew the date well enough.

“Abe, you can’t be serious.” Caleb chastised, not liking this proposal one bit.

Abe ignored him though.

“All right. Until Ben’s birthday. But no longer than that.”

He stuck out his hand and Molly shook it. They were in agreement.

* * *

John was in a bad mood. As soon as Molly stepped away to get some air, he took up a seat at the table beside the puddle of blood on the floor. Then he took a hearty drink from one of the mugs that was already there. He needed to calm himself; his hands were still trembling from rage. He knew he had lost his temper. He could still see the look of disbelief on Molly Strong’s face. But he didn’t care. He offered her his protection for a reason, and he intended to see it through. And he had. He had protected her.

What’s more, it seemed everything he was fearful of was coming true. Robert Rogers had been here. He was aided by one or many of the townspeople, no doubt. That’s how he had evaded John’s men so easily.

John remembered when Major Andre first ordered him to return to Setauket. He had very nearly laughed in the man’s face. But Andre insisted that there were more traitors on Long Island that he could begin to imagine, and now John had to agree. He had to squash this rebellion before it became too prominent. He had to, if not to protect Wakefield’s men, then to protect himself and his own men. John may no longer be part of the King’s Army, but he had not forgotten where he had come from. And he would’ve been grateful if someone had been able to stop the rebels before they sent him on a goose chase to that safehouse in Connecticut, where he was captured and tortured.

With this new information, he needed time to think. He was beginning to doubt his belief that the Magistrate was solely responsible for having dealings with Robert Rogers. Most likely, the Magistrate had only been working with Hewlett, and in that case, John would have nothing to fear. Hewlett was gone. No, it seemed the very people he didn’t expect were the true traitors all along. Men like Woodhull and Robeson and DeJong, and God knew who else.

This entire time, he had been so sure of himself. But he understood now, he needed to stop doing that. As much as he disagreed with it, he needed to speak with a man who would always choose wealth over loyalties. For Richard Woodhull would never aide Robert Rogers unless some form of wealth was involved; working with the King’s Army was too beneficial for him. And to John’s knowledge, Rogers was a fugitive who had no wealth. Yes, that’s what he’d do. He was decided on it. He’d return to Whitehall and speak with the Magistrate.

* * *

By time Molly returned to the tavern, the Rangers had departed and Robeson’s body had been moved away. DeJong was the only one inside; he had closed the tavern early to compose himself after what had happened. She used her key to get inside, and she found DeJong behind the bar, busying himself with reorganizing the shelves.

There was a mop leaning against one of the tables, and the fabric at the end was stained red. She looked in the direction of the blood puddle, and it was mostly gone. But the floorboards had a red hue to them.

“I’m back.” She said. “Mr. DeJong, are you alright?”

The older man jumped slightly upon hearing her enter, and he turned to look at her.

“Molly. Good, I need to speak with you.”

“How are you?” she asked. They were across from one another at the barn.

“Well, that’s the thing.” He was stammered and he sounded nervous. “I have your references here…”

He placed several pieces of parchment on the bar. She looked at them for a moment, then she looked back up at his face.

“What?” she asked, in total confusion.

“Well, you see. It’s become too expensive to board you here.”

Her eyes widened and it felt as if her heart had stopped.

“Sorry?”

He repeated what he had said.

“No.” She said firmly, still in disbelief. “All my wages go to that room. What do you mean it’s _too_ expensive now? What’s changed?”

He stuttered again, but he refused to give her a proper answer.

“Maarten! Please Mr. DeJong.”

“I’m sorry, Molly.” And he did look sorrowful. “There’s no more I can do.”

She leaned forward on the counter, trying to wrap her mind around everything. But she could feel her temper rising.

“I have nowhere to go. You know that.”

He didn’t say anything. And in that moment, her mind flashed to Judge Woodhull. The man did not like her, and she knew for a fact that the Magistrate and DeJong were well acquainted.

“Is someone persuading you to do this?” she demanded.

“Of course not!”

“If you are to fire me, at least have the decency to tell me the truth. Everything has been taken from me, so allow me this.”

“I will not change my decision.” His tone was becoming angrier as well.

“I know. I’m asking you to do so. Please. Tell me the truth.”

DeJong refused to answer her, and that’s when she hit him. She punched him in the nose, and he crumpled back into the shelves behind the bar, knocking several mugs to the ground. She immediately regretted what she had done, but she refused to apologize.

“When do you need me gone?” she asked, her tone wavering now.

“By the end of the week.” DeJong groaned, cradling his face in his hand. He didn’t lash out at her though. He ignored his fresh injury. “I don’t expect you to work the rest of the week, in fact.”

“Thank you.” She silently cursed herself for sounding so erratic. “I-I’ll be back for my things.”

DeJong waved for her to go on, so she did, and she exited the tavern once more.

* * *

The further she walked, the more her anger dissipated, and now fear was creeping in. She had experienced a similar feeling after discovering the attainder nailed to her home’s front door. Everything had been taken from her. She was not bitter because of her reputation. She knew the blame was hers for her past behavior, and she was not sorry for it. But as for everything else, it had all been taken because of the war.

Being a single woman was not scandalous. Even without her family, as long as she could find a means of making a living and finding a place to live, there was nothing unusual about it. But all that meant nothing when there was nowhere for her to go. She had nothing. She could not return to Strong Manor. She could not return to the tavern. She could not go to the Reverend’s former home. She could not stay with Abe or Mary, for they only had their shack. And she was certain Caleb had already left for Washington’s camp with the news from Townsend, and only God knew when he might return. She had nothing. She had nowhere to go.

She was visibly shaking, both from fear and the cold as she made the trek to Whitehall. She could feel the tears welling in her eyes, and her face was hot, and her head was pounding all at once, and she just wanted to hide from everything. But she couldn’t.

* * *

“Are you quite alright?”

She was startled by the sudden voice. She turned and a few hundred yards away on the main road was Captain Simcoe mounted on his horse.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. She was suddenly aware of how cold it was, and she moved to hug her cloak tighter around her form, and that’s when she realized she had forgotten her cloak at the tavern. She was confused by her own absentmindedness; that wasn’t like her.

“I’ve just come from Woodhull’s farm. I needed to speak with him.”

He rode to her and dismounted, closing the distance between them on foot, his horse’s reins in his hands. The horse continued to step forward, and he pushed his muzzle into her skirts, he was looking for sugar, and she lightly pushed his head away. When she felt how warm his coat was, she kept her cold hand on him and started petting his muzzle, trying to warm up.

“Are you quite alright?” Simcoe repeated.

She was trying to focus on his horse and not on him. She was angry at herself for how she had been feeling that day, and she decided to project her anger onto him.

“Aye, I’m fine.

“No, something’s happened. What is it?”

She narrowed her eyes slightly.

“It’s nothing to concern you.”

“We are allies still, yes? You are the one who prefers to use that term.” She fought the urge to roll her eyes. She wished she could just get the whole thing over with then and there. She wished killing him was that easy. But it wasn’t. “What’s happened? As allies we can be expected to conspire with one another.”

“Mr. DeJong fired me.”

She was blunt and with little emotion, and she could see the surprise on his face from her words.

“And what purpose did he give?” he asked slowly, taken aback by the news.

She shrugged, “Money. Said it was too costly to board me at the tavern.”

“I recall the arrangement Hewlett made for you when you first began staying there. Did not all your wages go toward that room?”

“They did.”

A beat.

“I will speak with him.” Simcoe said decidedly.

Molly snorted in amusement, “You will not.”

“You cannot dissuade me. I have already made up my mind.”

“You will not.” She snapped.

They stood there glaring at each other for a moment.

“I recall you were close with the Brewster family. Will they not welcome you?”

Molly shook her head, “Caleb Brewster’s half-sister is stricken with palsy. She had been her whole life. The last thing she or her husband need is for me to seek their charity.”

“It would not be charity–”

“Yes, it would. You know it would.”

“Where will you go then?”

She shrugged.

“I suppose I have no choice but to cross over to the rebels’ side.” She knew she was being dramatic, but she was not in the mood to act coy or reasonable. She had forgotten her fear, and she felt nothing but anger now, towards DeJong and the Magistrate alike.

“Come to Whitehall.” Simcoe said after a beat.

She blinked.

“Pardon?”

“In lieu of the circumstances, I cannot in good conscience stand by and do nothing. I would like to extend an invitation for you to move into Whitehall.”

She laughed aloud, but when he did not say more, she realized he was being completely serious.

“The Judge would never allow it.” She protested.

“You will not be there as _his_ guest. You will be _mine_. And when you stay, you will continue be under my protection.”

She felt a blush rising to her cheeks. This wasn’t what she had wanted. She hadn’t wanted a solution, she had just wanted to bitch about her misfortune.

She considered voicing her protest further, but then she realized how she could manipulate this proposal to her advantage. She thought about all she could do at Whitehall and she realized this was the perfect opportunity to spy. She had already gone through his things once, but it had been done haphazardly, and little had come from it. But if she was living there, she would have time. She could eavesdrop on conversations. And she could do all this and still kill him within the time window she and Abe had agreed upon.

“Sir, do you understand the implications of this offer?” she decided to say.

“Of course. But considering the circumstances, I doubt you are too prideful as to care about the state of your reputation.”

She grinned at the comment, genuinely amused by his words, and that surprised her.

Simcoe added, “When Hewlett extended an invitation for your sister-in-law to come to Whitehall, was that considered to be in poor taste?”

 _Only by the Judge._ She thought.

“No.” she admitted. “When he did so, it was honorable.”

“So how is this any different?”

It was no different. And that’s why her answer was,

“I accept.”

* * *

It had been a few days since Molly had moved into Whitehall, and she would be the first to admit how bizarre the entire affair had been. For the first time since before the war, she had nothing to do. She had no work, no responsibilities. Even when she offered to help Aberdeen with a chore, the slave always denied her assistance. So, Molly was left to her own devices. Her time was her own.

She took up hobbies she had nearly forgotten she once had. She abandoned tasks she never liked much anyway like needlework, and she began reading again, and painting, and drawing. And all the while, she was still plotting the demise of both Captain Simcoe and Judge Woodhull. It was hardly the second week of January, but she knew she didn’t have much time left, and she wasn’t ready. She needed that time to compose her plan, for she didn’t have one yet.

So far, she spent most of her time in the library, for hardly anyone frequented that room. It gave her an ample excuse to avoid the Judge (for obvious reasons) and Mary (for Abe had told her of the agreement, and now Mary was insistent on aiding Molly is plotting murder).

No, she just needed time to think. That’s what she kept telling herself as she stood before the wall of bookcases. And that’s what she kept telling herself as she came to the conclusion that in order to commit murder, one needed inspiration. And that’s why she located the section of the library filled with Greek tragedies. And that was why she decided on Sophocles’ _Antigone_. She had read it before, but not since she was a teenager, and she remembered little of it. But she soon came to regret her decision. All of it was too familiar. The sister defending her brother, the questioning of morals, trying to defend one’s position to their enemy, the uncertainty of it all… While some lines brought her reassurance, others made a nervous pit form in her stomach and she found herself questioning all her thoughts.

She decided to choose another Greek work. After all, _Antigone_ did have death in it, just not the right type of death she was looking for. On a whim, she chose Euripides’ _Orestes_. She hadn’t read that one before. And a similar happenstance ensued. It was another Greek play, but the entire story involved justice and war and consequences of seeking revenge, and the entire matter made her stomach churn as she began to think about what she herself was going to do. And that was when she decided that she would no longer be consulting the Greeks for advice. And her afternoon continued, with her scouring the shelves for something, anything, that may provide her with proper inspiration.

* * *

When John walked into the library, he was startled to find that he was not alone. Molly was there, asleep on the settee, a book resting on her stomach, one of her fingers buried in the papers to remember her place. Truth be told, he was disappointed to find her here. Since his injury, he found little pleasure in writing at his desk in his quarters. Seeing as the library was rarely frequented, he had taken to writing letters and responding to reports here. Of course, he could just use the Judge’s study, but when he commandeered that room, he had no intention of using it properly. He had merely taken it as a way to annoy the older man.

He hesitated in the doorframe, almost hoping she would wake up and he would have an excuse to leave the space. But the longer he stood there, he realized she was in a deep sleep, and the longer he stood there, the more he realized that he needed to make a decision. It was far stranger to continue staring. So, he decided to stay.

He walked quietly over to the writing desk near the window, being mindful not to step too loudly with his boots, and he spread the handful of papers with him out on the desk. And he took up the quill from where it was at the top of the desk, and he began his work. He was uncertain precisely how long he was sat there, but he knew from the way the sun changed the lighting on his papers that it was several hours.

He read through the couple of scouting reports and began to transcribe those into more condensed versions of themselves (for his own notes and for Major Andre). He compiled several new reports to Major Andre (being careful to omit too many details about Rogers and about his own men’s incompetence). He responded to his godfather’s correspondences; he had fallen behind in writing, but his godfather had not faltered in sending more letters, and they were beginning to pile up. And when all that was said and done, he was utterly sick of signing his own name over and over again.

He leaned back in his chair and stretched, and although he was tired, he still felt like writing. He retrieved his journal from where it had become buried under all the paperwork, and he began flipping through what he had previously worked on. Most of the pages were filled with unfinished beginnings, such as “ _…harsh are the words of those --- held dear, / Better to endure than say we are Strong_ ”. John was annoyed at how poor these fragments were; poor structure, poor word choice, poor everything. But, then again, he hadn’t intended for these to be full poems, he was just playing with an idea for a rhyme scheme. He had considered crossing out all these fragments many times, but when it came down to it, he could never see it through.

He continued flipping through the pages until he came to a beginning he was actually proud of:

_To raise the iron Spear of War, victim of Grief and deep Despair:  
Say, must I all my joys forego and still maintain this outward show?  
Say, shall this breast that’s pained to feel be ever clad in horrid steel?  
Nor swell with other joys than those of conquest o’er unworthy foes?  
_

He had written this weeks ago, and he was certain he wanted to use it for something, but he just wasn’t sure. He had had a lot of idea recently, but as of now, none of those idea made much sense. He still wasn’t entirely sure what he was writing about. He had just had a sort of feeling, and he had taken up a quill to scribble it down.

He read over those four lines again and again, and he was still undecided where he was going with the matter. If he was being quite honest, he enjoyed moments like these when he was frustrated with his personal writings. It provided a level of normalcy he had not known for many years, and he liked to think that if he had never enlisted in the King’s Army, then perhaps he would be in England – and ignoring his family’s wealth he would be – living as a struggling poet.

He arose from his seat and decided to take a turn around the room. His legs were stiff from sitting for so long. He found himself walking in front of the settee where Molly was still fast asleep, and he wondered how she could sleep for so long in the middle of the afternoon. As he walked to the front of the settee, nearer to the bookshelves, he noticed just how many stacks of books were on the floor surrounding her. Curious, he stooped over and picked up a handful from the stack. As he did so, he caught a glimpse at the book still clasped tightly in her hands, Shakespeare’s _Titus Andronicus_. He fleetingly thought that that seemed a bit morbid for her liking, but he shook off the feeling. All the books he grabbed her also by Shakespeare; _Hamlet, Macbeth_ , _Richard III_ , _Romeo and Juliet_ , _Merchant of Venice_. A part of him wanted to be nosy and make assumptions about why she was had become interested in Shakespeare (and his more violent plays) this afternoon, but another part of him understood. He doubted she had had access to a library like this in a long time.

When he knelt down to return the books to their stack, he noticed a book that had been kicked until the settee, laying open with the pages down. He reached out and grabbed it, and when he saw what page it was on, he saw it was _the Taming of the Shrew_. He hadn’t read this particular title since he was a schoolboy, but he remembered the plot well. The book had been left open to Act 2, Scene 1, and as his eyes automatically skimmed over the dialogue, he found it was the scene where Petruchio and Katherine first meet. His eyes fell to Petruchio’s line, “For I am he am born to tame you, Kate, / And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate / Conformable as other household Kates”. He continued reading, and as he did, he felt a blush creeping onto his face.

The banter, the underlying bitterness, the erratic flirtations… He read Katherine say, “I’ll see thee hanged on Sunday first”, and that’s when he understood. That’s when he realized why Molly Strong had seemed almost familiar all these years. Because she was just like Katherine.

He looked back at her. She was still asleep, and as she slept, she looked almost peaceful. She was far less intimidating now. And with his new realization, he felt as if he understood her better – if not her as an individual, then at least her as a person. And as all those thoughts were going through his head, he thought back to the lines of his poem. He had no intention of becoming a Petruchio, but as he thought back to his words, he realized what it was he had been writing about. It was _her_. It was about how she was so hard to read and about how he couldn’t for the life of him understand why he would be curious about such a hardened individual.

He returned this book to the stack as well, and he quickly crossed the room back to the writing desk. He had another idea. He knew how to use those lines for his poem, so he wrote on.

* * *

Exactly one week after staying at Whitehall, Molly decided it was time to confront the Magistrate. The man had been avoiding her; of that she was certain. She saw him during meals, but that was only when he didn’t take lunch or dinner in his own quarters. So, on a day when she was certain that Mary and Simcoe and the Rangers were all out of the main house, she confronted him in the parlor.

“I know it was you.”

She didn’t bother with formalities. The older man looked up from his place in his armchair, where he was surrounding with his papers. He removed his spectacles, so he could look at her.

“Pardon me?”

“I know it was you.”

The Judge rolled his eyes. He had no idea what she was referring to, and he found her poor temper more annoying than anything else.

“Well whatever it was, may you enlighten me?”

Molly clenched her fists. She couldn’t believe him. Couldn’t believe he was acting so coy; so cowardly that he wouldn’t admit what he’d done. She crossed the room and found a place on the settee. She leaned over the arm of the settee towards his chair, so that she was practically beside him now. She kept her voice low.

“DeJong fired me from my position at the tavern, and I know it was _your_ doing.”

The Judge laughed aloud. But Molly’s expression remained unchanging.

“You can’t be serious.” He scoffed.

“Why did you do it?”

“Because _I didn’t_. I didn’t persuade DeJong to do anything.”

“Bullshit!”

Richard Woodhull let out a sigh. He had been dealing with the antics of the Strong children for decades, and he was disappointed he still had to deal with it now.

“I do not like you. It’s true.” He admitted, but that was nothing new. “But even I have morals, standards.”

“Then why–”

He held up a hand to stop her.

“I’ve spoken with Maarten often over the past weeks. He’s noticed your acquaintance with Simcoe. He said that the two of you often drink together.”

Molly blushed furiously.

Richard continued, “He’s also overheard the two of you speak at the tavern.”

“W-What does that have to do with anything?” she asked defensively, trying to piece together what it was he may have overheard. Had he heard about their kiss? She was already feeling the humiliation of that detail; if other townspeople knew of it, her reputation would be besmirched even more.

“At the tavern last week, what happened between Simcoe and Maarten?” the Judge continued.

“He thought he may be league with Robert Rogers.” Molly said slowly, unsure where the Judge was going with this.

“And is that what _you_ believe?”

“Of course not.”

The Judge shrugged.

“I’m not denying that Robert Rogers was here, and I’m not denying your injury or Simcoe’s, or the violence that has happened over the past months. But how did their meeting end last week?”

Molly paused, trying to remember. She hadn’t been there, hadn’t seen it herself, but she remembered the yelling she had heard, and she had heard others describe the scene.

“With Simcoe smashing the barrels of ale.” She finally said.

Richard nodded, “From the privateers.”

She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

“I-I still don’t understand. If you didn’t persuade him, then who did?”

“You did.”

She blinked, taken aback.

“Me?”

Richard nodded, “Maarten thinks you’re the one who told Simcoe about his illegal dealing with privateers.”

Her mouth fell agape in shock.

“That’s ridiculous!”

“Is it? Just like it’s so ridiculous to believe that you had a hand in the death of John Robeson.”

She stared at him, unsure what to make of it. She was still in disbelief. DeJong was scared of her. Scared of her because of her friendship.

“Just out of curiosity, why did you assume it was me?”

She blinked again, realizing that the Judge was still speaking with her.

“Because you hate me.” She said quietly.

He chuckled quietly, “Now, I never said I hated you. I do not like you. There is a difference.”

She didn’t respond.

“Molly, perhaps it is you who hates me. If that is the case, then so be it. I am not offended. But I thought you may be wise enough to know, never hate your enemies; it affects your judgement.”

She pondered those words for a long time, but they were no more reassuring than everything else that had been happening over the past weeks.

* * *

**February 1779**

John went to see the Judge. He found him sat at the dining table with his ledger book – oh, how John found it amusing how the older man was forced to use any room as an office now. Although their acquaintance was still strained, the Judge seemed to be in better humor now that John had apologized for his harshness. John never liked apologizing, but he was doing so as a strategy, not because he necessarily meant it. There was a difference.

“I was wondering if there had been any callers from town.” John said, walking around the room to the window. “Someone who may have brought information on Rogers.”

“No.”

“Pity.” John didn’t like being friendly with those he didn’t like. That’s why he decides to skip the formalities with the Judge. “They leave me no choice. I'm compelled to strike at random until the conspiracy comes to light.”

The Judge hesitated slightly, and John knew it was because the man was still wary of him. That was comforting in a way.

“No, surely there's a better way.”

“If there is, I'm not aware of it. Though as Magistrate, you know this town better than anyone.” He turned back to look at the older man.

“You already have a list of suspected Whigs and of people who haven't paid their taxes to the king.”

The list. The previous one Hewlett had used all those months ago. That still felt like a lifetime ago.

John shrugged, “Rogers is too clever to be found amongst the usual suspects.”

“What makes you so sure he's still here?”

“He missed his chance to kill me.”

“A clever man would cut his losses.”

John wanted to laugh aloud. He couldn’t expect a man like Richard Woodhull to understand, a man who was more coward than man. He was not a veteran, even though he was in well enough shape to serve during the French and Indian War. But he had heard the rumors well, from the neighbors, who talked of how the Judge had used his wealth to avoid serving his King and country.

“But he and I are cut from the same cloth.” John replied. “Neither of us will cease until our enemy has been destroyed. What I require are secrets. Greed, revenge, perversions. The sort of secrets that cannot be hidden in a small town.” He moved across the room to take a seat beside the Judge at the table. “The sort of secrets that can be used against someone. Not by me, of course, but by Rogers.”

A beat.

“If you give me time, I will draw up a list based upon what I know.” He offered.

“Be quick about it. There's no telling when Rogers will strike next.”  
John was surprised when the Judge came to him the next morning with the list. He remembered he was sat at breakfast across from Mrs. Woodhull and her son. Molly was nowhere to be found, and he suspected she was sleeping in; she was doing that most mornings and he would catch a glimpse of her coming down to a late breakfast, although it was typically late enough that it seemed she was coming down for an early lunch.

He had been speaking with Mrs. Woodhull when the Judge entered the dining room.

“Captain, a word if we may.”

“I haven't finished my breakfast.” John retorted. “Whatever you need to say can be said in front of Mrs. Woodhull.”

“I have that list.”

“Ah, the names.” He accepted the list from the man and skimmed over it. “Who'd have thought a town this size could have so many secrets? I would appreciate if we kept the source of this information between us. It'll be our secret.”

With that, he rose to his feet, no longer interested in his food, and he left the room. He needed to start forming a plan of action.

* * *

Molly was in and out of sleep when she heard a floorboard creak on the other side of her bedroom door. Her eyes snapped open, and she remained completely still, listening. She knew from her tiredness that it was the early hours of the morning, and she tried to make sense of who might be outside her bedroom door. It couldn’t be Mary; she was with Abe tonight. And it couldn’t be the Magistrate; they had come to an understanding. And it couldn’t be Simcoe…

She had a moment of realization, and she remembered the words Anna had said to her all those years ago, right after Selah’s arrest: _“That man, Simcoe… He frightens me… I hear him outside my door at night.”_

Molly sat upright in bed. _No_ , she thought, _No, I’m just being paranoid_. But that didn’t stop her from rising to her feet and grabbing the candlestick holder from the dresser. And that didn’t stop her from walking silently on the balls of her feet to her door, and that didn’t stop her from turning the lock and yanking the door open.

She blinked. There was no one there. It was just the darkness of the hallway. She pouted, almost disappointed she didn’t have another reason to despise Simcoe, and she closed her door once more, and she returned to bed. She left the candlestick holder on her nightstand, within arms’ reach.

* * *

John silently thanked God that he returned to his quarters when he did. As soon as he was back inside, he heard a small commotion from across the hall, and he knew it was Molly, who had awakened and was seeing who was outside her bedroom door. He felt almost sorry for waking her, but he felt even more sorry for himself, for behaving as he was.

He had stood outside her bedroom door for close to ten minutes. And he just stood there, debating whether or not to slide the letter in his hand under the door. He had been debating showing her the letters for weeks. And he finally thought he had built up enough courage to do it, but then he had doubted himself in the last moment, and he had fled.

He turned the letter over in his hands for several minutes, then in a moment of impulse, he picked at the wax seal and unfolded it, rereading its contents. He decided that if he was really going to do this, he needed to do it impulsively, and then behave too cowardly as to take it back, for you couldn’t take something like this back. But as he reread his words, he was proud of what he had written, and it seemed a shame if the inspiration behind the meaning didn’t get to see these words as well. He had made a decision.

* * *

**February 14, 1779**

Molly awoke that morning to knocking on her door. She groaned and pushed herself to her feet, pulling one of the quilts from the bed and wrapping it around her shoulders. She was cold. She padded to the door and opened it, surprised to see Simcoe standing there. He was dressed in his uniform, ready to begin the day, unlike Molly who wished to sleep in as long as physically possible.

“Captain.” She greeted awkwardly, unsure what to make of this visit.

He put out his hand and offered her a folded piece of paper.

“What’s this?” She asked, hesitantly accepting it. She looked back up at him, but he remained emotionless.

“I pray you will do me the goodness of reading it. And I pray your opinion of me will not suffer because of it.”

Her eyebrows knitted in confusion, and before she could further question him, he had turned and was walking down the stairs. She closed the door once more and returned to sit on her bed. She looked uncertainly at the paper, and then shrugged, unfolding it. To her surprise, it was a poem, and from what he had said, she knew it must be his handwriting. Of all the people in the world to dabble in poetry, she never would’ve suspected him. She read:

_Fairest Maid, where all is fair, Beauty’s pride and Nature’s care;  
To you my heart I must resign, O choose me for your Valentine.  
Love, Mighty God, Thou know’st full well, where all thy Mother’s graces dwell,  
Where they inhabit and combine to fix thy power with spells divine;  
Thou know’st what powerful magick lies within the round of Molly’s eyes,  
Or darted thence like lightning fires, and Heaven’s own joys around inspires;  
Thou know’st my heart will always prove the shrine of pure unchanging love.  
Say; awful God. Since to thy throne two ways that lead are only known—  
Here gay Variety presides, and many a youthful circle guides  
Through paths where lilies, roses sweet, bloom and decay beneath their feet;  
Here constancy with sober mien regardless of the flowery Scene  
With Myrtle crowned that never fades, in silence seeks the Cypress Shades,  
Or fixed near Contemplation’s cell, chief with the Muses loves to dwell,  
Leads those who inward feel and burn and often clasp the abandon’d urn,–  
Say, awful God. Did’st thou not prove my heart was formed for Constant love?  
Thou saw’st me once on every plain to Delia pour the artless strain—  
Thou wept’sd her death and bad’st me change my happier days no more to range  
O’er hill, o’er dale, in sweet Employ, of singing Delia, Nature’s joy;  
Thou bad’st me change the pastoral scene forget my Crook; with haughty mien  
To raise the iron Spear of War, victim of Grief and deep Despair:  
Say, must I all my joys forego and still maintain this outward show?  
Say, shall this breast that’s pained to feel be ever clad in horrid steel?  
Nor swell with other joys than those of conquest o’er unworthy foes?  
Shall no fair maid with equal fire awake the flames of soft desire:  
My bosom born, for transport, burn and raise my thoughts from Delia’s urn?  
“Fond Youth,” the God of Love replies, “Your answer take from Molly’s eyes.”_

Molly had never been one easily swayed by words; she was swayed by actions. But reading this… she had never read anything like it before. And she couldn’t for the life of her understand why she was moved by his words.

“With equal fire.” She whispered aloud.

She felt goosebumps rise on her flesh as she read over that line again and again. _With equal fire_. She felt strange again. It was the feeling she didn’t want to describe, because if she thought too much about it, she would identify it for what it was, and she didn’t want to admit how she was feeling. She cast the letter to the foot of the bed, suddenly wanting to be as far away from it as possible.

“He’s wrong. We are nothing alike.” And she wasn’t entirely sure why she whispered that aloud to herself. Perhaps so she could reassure herself. But it didn’t work, because she knew she was lying to herself. And she was frightened with herself, because that was when she realized that perhaps she didn’t hate him so much after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was inspired to alter Robeson’s death after watching the movie “The Drop” from 2014. There’s a really similar scene like that at the end of the film, and when I first watched it, I thought it had major Molly/Simcoe vibes, and I decided to adapt it in my own way. I would highly recommend the film!
> 
> Also, am I shamelessly having Richard Woodhull quote Don Corleone? Yes, yes I am ;) The quote's from the book btw (which is superior in my humble opinion). I don't remember if he ever says that in the movie.
> 
> Like the Molly Pitcher thing in my original fic, the timeline weirdly worked out so I could make this a tad more historically accurate. For those who don’t know, the real Simcoe was stationed on Long Island during the war, but he and his Rangers were actually quartered in the Townsend household. While he was there, there are historical references that he and Sarah “Sally” Townsend (Robert’s sister) were flirtatious with one another. It’s really not known if this was more one-sided like the stuff from the show with him and Anna, but then again, Sally never married, so ya never know ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Simcoe is credited as writing the first Valentine’s Day letter in colonial America (which he did give to Sally on Feb 14, 1779!!), and the poem from the chapter is verbatim from the actual letter Simcoe gave Sally. All I did was replace “Sarah” with “Molly”.


	10. 3x09

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Everyone,
> 
> This chapter is long overdue, and I regret to say that the chapter is still incomplete. I'm not sure what it is about this fic, but I am so burned out from writing this. Rather than keep everyone in an unending Hiatus, I have decided on a compromise: Here are the fragments from 3x09. Apologies for the lack of quotation marks, for the fragmented scenes/plot, and (as always) for the typos. Here is what 3x09 was going to become, but I just don't have the motivation to push through and clean up my draft. I do have the rest of the fic plotted out; I just haven't been in the mood to write more of this story for months now.
> 
> All that being said, I don't want to abandon this fic; but, I have no idea when I'll work on it again. Thank you to everyone who has bookmarked this and left kudos and comments. I appreciate your support more than anything! Hopefully, one day, I will finish this.
> 
> Until then, and best wishes,  
> Nicole

Molly sat on her bed for she didn’t know how long. She sat there, refusing to shift her gaze to the foot of the bed, where she had thrust the letter, yet also refusing to move. She sat there, trying to compose herself, but also trying to consider everything that had happened over the last few weeks. She was desperately trying to remember something, anything, that might reaffirm her dislike for the dreaded Captain Simcoe. But the more she began to consider all that had happened, she was struggling to find motivation for doing so.

 _Robeson didn’t have to die_.

She had been telling herself that for weeks. But each time she thought it, she also doubted her reasoning. Robeson died because he had lied. He could’ve said it was Abe who killed Joyce; that it was Abe that had threatened him. Whatever had happened after Selah’s arrest, there was no denying that Abe had been involved in _something_ to do with discovering Robeson as the murderer. And Robeson was not ignorant to that fact; Robeson seemed to know just as well that Abe knew the truth. So _why_ had he accused her? _Why?_ By doing so, Robeson sealed his Fate. And by doing so, he appeared to have sealed Molly’s as well.

Then she had a different thought. She had not been into town since being fired from the tavern. She saw no one except for the Rangers, the occasional redcoat, and the Woodhulls. Despite all that had happened, Molly knew that her position as Simcoe’s guest at Whitehall would’ve been discussed by the townspeople. The Judge had said so himself, when DeJong told him his reasons for firing her. And the more she thought about that fact, she remembered her anger. Her neighbors, the people who had never been fond of her, the people who were already well known for gossiping about their dislike towards her and her brother… She was certain enough assumptions were being made about what was transpiring between her and Simcoe. DeJong’s reaction was evidence enough; he was scared of _her_ because he was scared of Simcoe. The more she thought about that, she could feel herself losing her temper. She decided that _that_ ; those insinuations; would fuel her anger.

And still, despite all that, she couldn’t bring herself to rip up the poem. So she tucked it in her dresser drawer, and then she began to dress.

* * *

No more than half an hour had passed since Molly first read the poem, yet when she finally left her quarters and descended the stairs, she noticed how eerily quiet the estate was. She found Aberdeen in the parlor playing with Thomas.

“Where have they gone?”

Aberdeen didn’t need context; she understood.

“They’ve just left, ma’am.”

“Did they say when they’d be back?”

“No. Can’t imagine they’ll be gone long though. The Captain didn’t say anything differently, so I’m still expecting to serve them lunch later.”

Molly nodded slowly. She was regretting her decision to answer the knock on her bedroom door that morning. It would be hours until the Rangers returned for lunch, and she was feeling impatient.

“How is he?” She shook off the feeling enough to inquire about Thomas, who was sat on the floor playing with his toy soldiers. She bit the inside of her cheek as she watched him for a moment. Truth was, she had immensely enjoyed the boy’s company that day when she looked after him. But she hadn’t been allowed to watch him since. Abe’s father made sure of that.

“He’s well.” Aberdeen shrugged. “Misses his mama sometimes, but he seems to be alright with me for company.”

“Where’s the Judge?” Molly decided to ask.

“Still in his chambers. I don’t expect he’ll be down much today.”

The Judge was spending more and more time in his quarters lately.

“If I’m needed, I’ll be in the library.”

Aberdeen nodded and went back to playing with Thomas, and Molly made herself scarce. As soon as she entered the library, she felt at a loss. _This is ridiculous_. She told herself. _What are you doing? Acting so sentimental. That poem was a good sign. He trusts you now. It’ll only be easier to see to getting rid of him._ She knew she wasn’t being completely honest with herself, but she was too frightened to dwell on it much longer.

No. She couldn’t forget her purpose here. She had been incredibly indecisive recently, so as she stood there, listening to the silence in the room, she made a decision: She would decide on how to kill him within the following hours, before he returned in the afternoon. She slowly took a turn around the room, letting her eyes quickly glance at the titles as she passed the bookshelves. Her eyes kept darting back to Shakespeare’s works, but that made sense. After all, she had recently skimmed through nearly all his completed works. It was strange to read his stories and other for a sinister purpose rather than pleasure. But she had learned a lot in the past weeks. Shakespeare’s most common forms of death came from stabbings or poison – in fact, when she read _Titus Andronicus_ , she briefly considered the likelihood of her being able to bake Captain Simcoe into a pie, but the logistics were impossible. In fact, poison was everywhere in ancient literature.

Poison. It was a technique only cowards used. She wished she could say she was bothered by that fact alone, but wasn’t she used to being a coward? Spying was cowardly as well, and she had thought little of her honor when she agreed to send information to Ben.

The only problem was, to poison someone, one needed access to poison. Where would she even get poison? It wasn’t like she had access to a home of her own, and it wasn’t like Abe or Mary, or even Caleb for that matter, could get ahold of poison on such short notice. She was wracking her brain trying to think of something, anything that might be a good alternative.

The Rangers returned to Whitehall later that afternoon. Molly heard their horses’ hooves before she saw them out the window, riding closer to the house. She hurried from her place at the window and back down the hall. As she walked, she found herself abruptly gaiting her pace, and then she froze and turned to head. On the wall outside of the library, there was a barometer. She stared at it wide-eyed. She had never noticed it until then, but it seemed to be in well working order. Her eyes became fixated on the silvery substance inside the machine, and the longer she stared, she could feel a smirk tugging on her mouth.

 _That’s how I’ll do it_. She thought. _Mercury poisoning._

And then she abandoned the barometer, turning her attention back to the hall before her. She needed to speak with the Captain.

* * *

John didn’t notice Molly approaching until it was too late. He and his men were at the barn beside Whitehall, unsaddling their horses when he finally noticed her trying to squeeze passed a few of his men. Despite the chill in the air, she wore no cloak. He knew what was to come, so he didn’t bother ordering his men to depart.

“I need to talk to you.” She said quietly once she was situated in front of him. She kept eyeing the Rangers around them. She looked self-conscious.

“Whatever you can say in front of me, you can say in front of my men.” He was trying to sound indifferent.

“It’s about the letter.”

“So?”

“I liked it.”

He blinked in surprise. Then he silently passed his horse’s reins to one of his men and he nodded for her to follow him as they stepped away from the barn.

“I liked it very much, actually.” She said again when they were out of earshot – no pun intended, he thought bitterly, he vey nearly reached up to touch his mangled ear – of his men. “And I am very flattered by it.”

“But?”

They met each other’s gaze, and he was trying to read her expression. She seemed genuine though, and for that, he was grateful.

“But nothing.” She sighed. “I’m trying to thank you… Captain.” She hastily added his title and he couldn’t help but smirk at her reaction.

“You’re welcome.” He finally said.

She had liked it. She had actually liked it. He knew it probably did not mean much, but he was glad she was not offended by his words. However, seeing as she was not flinging herself into his arms, he knew he was correct in his deduction that she was still not attracted to him. He was sure she read the poem as something shared between friends, not lovers. Never that.

“Why are you lot still out here?” She shivered, crossing her arms over her chest. “Aberdeen’s expecting you inside.”

“Yes, I know.” He remembered himself. “After we lunch, we are to ride out again, but this time as to inquire after your neighbors.”

A beat.

“Which ones?” she asked quietly.

“I’m sure you would not like to concern yourself with the matter.”

But she was insistent.

“Who are you visiting?”

He eyed her again, trying to size her up. This didn’t seem like her. She was always tense, held back. Did she really want to be of use now? Perhaps he had been wrong? Perhaps after she read the poem, she saw him as an acquaintance now; no longer a man she loathed? Despite his better judgement, he reached into his coat pocket and handed her the list of names provided by the Judge.

“Who gave you this?” she asked, her eyes skimming the page.

“The Magistrate and myself came to an… understanding.”

“Aye, I assumed… And _these_ are the people he thinks may be in league with Rogers?”

He nodded.

“Who were you to see first?”

“Elias Appleby.”

She scoffed under her breath, faintly shaking her head. His brow furrowed.

“What is it?”

She looked away for a moment, chewing on the inside of her cheek, then she looked back at him. He could tell that she wanted something. Finally, she spoke,

“When I lived with Selah and Anna, it was done out of generosity. _Their_ generosity. As for Elias, he is an unmarried man who continues to live with his sister, and I know for a fact he does it for far more than generosity.”

His eyes widened slightly in shock. Did she understand the implication she was making?

“A-Are you implying—?”

She nodded.

“I know what I said.”

And he knew what she meant. She was implying that Mr. Appleby and his sister were lovers. As disgusted as he was by that fact, he felt a sense of pride knowing that Molly was willing to tell him this. _This_ was why he had befriended her; the fact he found himself attracted to her had happened after the fact. She could be useful.

“And is this… common knowledge?” he asked slowly.

“No.” She lifted her chin. “I only know because Caleb Brewster saw something he shouldn’t have a long time ago. And then he told me. And _we_ never told anyone else.”

“And Rogers… How might he have discovered this?”

She stepped closer to him, lowering her voice so only he could hear.

“If you were to watch their windows for long enough, I’m sure you might catch a glimpse of something.”

* * *

As soon as the Rangers departed once more, Molly hurried back to the library, an empty teacup in her hand. The Magistrate was still in his quarters, and Aberdeen was still looking after Thomas. Despite that, Molly felt the need to rush. She couldn’t risk someone seeing her. She retrieved a quill from the writing desk in the library, then she stood facing the barometer once more. The silvery liquid had risen only about halfway up the glass tube; it was February, and the warm hearths of Whitehall could not disguise the fact that there was a chill in most rooms of the estate.

She lifted the teacup so it hovered just under the glass tube, then she took the writing end of the quill and quietly ground it into the glass. After a few minutes, she heard the sound of glass cracking, then she saw the first drops of mercury spill into the teacup.

She had already seen part of her plan through. A few mornings ago, after the Rangers had departed, she had gone to the library, with a teacup in hand. And she had cracked the very bottom of the glass thermometer and let the mercury drip into the cup. She stashed the cup in her bedroom, waiting for the opportunity to lace one of the Captain’s drinks. The problem was, she wasn’t sure how she would slip it into his cup.

* * *

_The scene with Simcoe and Elias_

He has Elias on his knees on the ground. He stood above him, holding his detached bayonet to his throat.

It's very important you tell the truth.

I beg you, Captain. I've done nothing wrong.

That's not what I've heard, Elias. Naughty, naughty. And with your own sister, too.

Elias gulped.

How did you know about that?

I know everything. Between the thieving, the cheating, and the alleged incest, Setauket is Sodom-On-the-Sea. And Robert Rogers has been using the town's dirty secrets to blackmail folk into sheltering him.

Please, sir, about my sister, it's a slander. I don't even know Rogers. I've never seen the man, I swear it.

He knelt over so he was face-to-face with the man. The man’s breathing became shakier.

I believe you.

He rose to his full height again, removing his bayonet and watching the relief pass over Elias’ face. Then he turned to his men who were hovering outside the barndoor. Two of them came in with lit torches. The look of panic spread on Elias’ face as he watched the Rangers set fire to the hay.

Burn it all!

Elias: Wait.

I'm afraid you must serve as a warning to those who are guilty of harboring an outlaw.

Elias: No, wait! (animals screaming) Elias: Please, no! (Elias shouts) (crowd murmuring) (insects chirping)

* * *

_Molly and Abe meet up. This is when Abe is plotting to lead a revolt against the Rangers. Abe tells one of his neighbors,_

Simcoe is on a bloody rampage. Yours is the third one he's burned this week.

_This is when Simcoe starts burning peoples’ farms and/or barns in an attempt to find out information about Robert Rogers._

* * *

Molly could only imagine what God must think of her. She knew it was wrong to gossip. She knew it was wrong to sic Simcoe and his Rangers on her neighbors – regardless of her neighbors’ sins. But she had done it. Elias was not the only neighbor she revealed information on, and the past few days had been spent almost in peace at Whitehall, with Simcoe only returning late into the evenings, and then being gone before the Judge or Molly came down for breakfast. There were still Rangers posted as guards outside the estate, but they rarely came inside.

Molly had heard the whisperings from the Judge and from Aberdeen and the other slaves. She, too, saw the black smoke on the horizon just like they did. Smoke from the terror Simcoe was unleashing throughout the town. She wanted to feel a pang of guilt when she heard that the Rangers were burning property in an attempt to get confessions from those believed to be in league with Rogers. But she felt no guilt. Simcoe would be dead soon. If Mr. Mooney or the Farthings or if Elias Appleby had to sacrifice their barns and crops in order for her to see that through, then so be it.

* * *

_She talks with Abe and Mary_

Well? Any luck?

Not yet.

Moll-

Soon. I promise. Mary, I need you to stay away from Whitehall for a bit.

So when are you going to finish it?

Soon.

That’s not an answer.

Soon.

Will you two stop it. Molly, what of Thomas? He’s safe, isn’t he?

Of course. When… When I go through with it, I’ll make sure he’s with Aberdeen.

Good.

Oh, also I saw Caleb again at the dead drop.

You’re still going there?

(He waved her off)

Ben looked into that that Admiral fella you told him about. Yeah, he says the information is no good. Apparently the Admiral’s not been involved in the war for years. He’s retired and living in England now… Where did you get that information anyway?

(She was the one to wave him off now)

Doesn’t matter. The information is no good. Besides, it’s not like I could eavesdrop on the same man at the tavern.

_This was supposed to be a fun historical Easter egg. Basically, Simcoe’s godfather was a retired navy admiral. That’s whose letter Molly found among his belongings._

* * *

_Simcoe and the Judge talking_

Captain, would you mind telling me what Elias Appleby was doing here after you torched his entire harvest of hay and slaughtered his livestock?

Why, to thank me, of course. As so many have for my efforts to drive the wicked elements from Setauket. Though I suppose they should really be thanking you.

If I had known what you were going to do with the names I provided, I never would have given them.

I would have taken them all the same.

Your pointless hunt for Rogers is tearing this town apart. He is long gone and you are stoking the fires of rebellion in his absence.

Within your son in particular, it seems.

What?

He's been quite vocal lately.

Abe has been like that his whole life. He's a fool who runs his mouth without thinking.

On that we agree. Shame he never inherited his father's discretion.

* * *

She remembers seeing a small bar tray in his quarters, so her plan is to sneak into his quarters again and poison one of the bottles of alcohol.

She came here with a purpose. But as soon as she stepped into the room, she could feel herself losing her nerve. It was not the same space she had stumbled into before. He had tidied.

She was looking through his things. She knew it was wrong.

She hesitates with her plan, instead deciding to look through his desk. She finds a letter from John Andre implying that the man will be traveling in secret to meet with a potential double-agent. The agent is supposedly a high-ranking officer in the Continental Army, and Molly knows she has to get this information to the dead drop. As she’s putting the papers back into place, she hears boots outside the door. With no time to hide, she rises to her feet beside the desk and stands there, watching the door open and Simcoe steps inside. She’s been caught.

She looked up at him in horror. He looked at her in disbelief. He opened his mouth to speak, but he stopped himself. He glanced over his shoulder briefly, then quietly stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

What are you doing here?

She was silent.

How did you get in here?

I picked the lock.” She said. Her voice sounded very quiet. Not like herself.

Why?

Well, I supposed because I couldn’t find the key…

No. Why are you here?

I don’t really know. She admitted.

She came here with the purpose of poisoning him. But she had forgotten that purpose as soon as she stepped into the room, so she knew she didn’t really mean it. The small vile of mercury was still stuffed in her skirts’ pocket.

Then let us begin with where you are situated. Why are you at my desk?” He scoffed bitterly. “Oh, I see. You’re playing spies. Looking for some way to help Woodhull. The two of you are friends, after all.

What? No.

Then why?

That poem you gave me.

You were dishonest? You’re offended by it?

No, no. I like it very much, I just… I don’t understand how the man who arrested my brother, who was so cruel to me for so long, who killed my friend’s uncle… How could that be the same man who wrote those words?

He looked up, leaning back against the door, staring across the room for a few seconds.

Would you like a drink?

He didn’t wait for an answer, he slowly crossed the room to the small tray with bottled of alcohol and glass and he poured each of them a drink. He returned to her, handing her a glass, then he retreated to the other side of the room, taking a seat on the bed. They both greedily finished their glasses, and she briefly wished he would refill them. It was a long time before either of them spoke.

You’re not the only one who has grappled with those thoughts. He finally said.

She didn’t know what came over her, but suddenly she remembered something he had told her long ago. And that was why she asked,

How did they do it? How did Ben and Caleb torture you?

He hesitated for a moment, almost cringing upon hearing her speak the names of Tallmadge and Brewster, hearing her speak of them to casually, as if they were still friends.

My wrists were bound above my head to one of the rafters in the cellar where they kept me. I was forced to stand for I don’t know how many hours, but enough where my legs gave out and I feared my wrists would snap from being forced to support my weight. I was stripped of my uniform, half-dressed. Your friend, Mr. Brewster beat me into unconsciousness. The only respite I had was when I became lost to the world. And then I had cold water poured on me, to rouse me. And as I stood there shivering, I had to endure the verbal abuse from your friend. And then the beating would commence again. I was wounded in the ambush, and your friend saw to it that I did not forget my other injuries as he beat me.

Why did they let you go?

They nearly didn’t. Your man, Tallmadge, was prepared to run me through with his sword, but then his commanding officer discovered us, and reprimanded both of your friends. Freeing me. Well, I say free. I was a prisoner of war until an exchange was agreed upon.

He noticed the hurt look on her face.

Tallmadge wasn’t the one to do the beating.

But did he say anything to deter Caleb?

No.

She started to cry. He sat there, really unsure what to do. He’d never been good with women, didn’t know the first thing about consoling them. Hence why he was always so awkward when it came to matters like this.

I need another drink.

He complied, rising to his feet. He pulled up an extra chair from the other side of the room and brought it beside the desk, sitting close to her. It seemed silly to continue moving back and forth. They were both drinking too quickly to justify that. He brought the bottle to the desk and began to refill her glass. She watched as her cup filled with the amber liquid. Then she said,

Why are you being so kind to me? I mean now. Recently. I have done nothing to deserve your kindness.

True.” He said slowly. She was bad tempered. She was often cross with him. “I suppose my answer is just as poor as yours. I really don’t know. But I suppose it is because I am still fond of you.”

They both drank again, finishing their next drinks and he was refilling their glasses again.

“Would it be silly if I asked you why?

“No, it’s not foolish. It is a fair question. I am fond of you because I understand.

He finished another drink, but she didn’t touch hers.

“Understand?”

He nodded, “Like you, I’m also not good with my words… well, at least when I need to speak them. I never have been. I know that’s why you become so cross sometimes.”

Her expression softened slightly as she came to terms with all this. When she looked at him now, she understood why she had hesitated, she understood why she was no longer afraid of him. He wasn’t some monster. He was a man who wrote poetry in his spare time, and who had a temper that matched hers. She could chastise him all day for what he had done, but hadn’t she committed those same sins? Hadn’t she nearly committed yet another sin against him?

And then she remembered his words. _He understood_. He understood in a way that Ben perhaps could never understood. With Ben, Molly wanted to be a better person for him. But with Simcoe… he expected nothing from her. It was different with him. He didn't make her want to be a better person. And the fact that he was willing to have affection towards her even after seeing her at her worst... It made Molly feel strange.

Her entire life, growing up, her parents had scolded her; told her she'd become a burden on the family if she didn't change her ways; no man wanted a hotheaded wife; a well-read wife was troublesome enough. And unless she could find a local who was willing to take her, then they could be forced to look elsewhere; to neighboring towns for a husband. And that prospect had scared her. But Ben was her savior from all that. Or at least he had been. _I should've married him when we had the chance_. She couldn’t count the number of times she had told herself. But they had missed their chance. And now she knew she may never see him again. He could die at any time, and where would that leave her? And she hated it because she had never been a selfish person, but here, now, she wanted to be selfish. For she had nothing. Everything had been taken from her. But now… the decision was hers.

It was a long time, and several more drinks, before she spoke.

“Can I tell you something, John?”

It had been a long time since they used each other’s Christian names. But it seemed strange to call him anything else in that moment.

He nodded, and she met his gaze. His eyes were becoming hazy from all the drinking, but she knew she must look the same as well. And despite the buzz in the very back of her throat, she thought that she had never thought as clearly until right that moment. She reached out and put a hand on his. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and she said,

“I think I feel affection towards you as well.”

Before he could think of a response, she reached out and pulled him into a kiss.

In a swift movement, her hand was on the back of his neck and then knotting her fingers in his curls, and she pressed her lips to him. He made a quiet noise in surprise and she felt him tense against her, and she wondered briefly if this was what it was like for him when he had kissed her so long ago. In front of the tavern when he was departing in search of Hewlett. But he didn’t try to pull away.

Their kiss was gentle and chaste, neither of them trying to escalate it beyond just the feeling of their lips pressing against one another. And Molly couldn’t understand why something so chaste felt more sensual than if he pulled her closer. She tightened her grip on his hair, deepening the kiss. She wasn’t paying any attention to how he was reacting. She was only aware of the sound of her heart hammering in her ears and of the way her chest felt tight and she felt warm everywhere. And then he pushed her away, but just so their lips were separated. He didn’t try to push her arm away from where it was still resting on his shoulder.

“You forget yourself, Madam.” He spoke quietly, his voice cracking slightly as he spoke.

“What?”

“I am not showing you kindness for a reason as pathetic as expecting you to warm my bed. Do not belittle me. Or yourself for that matter.”

She scoffed, “What?

“You’re drunk.

She snorted in amusement.

“I’m really not. Why, are you?

“No.

They looked at each other for a second. He reached out to her then, pulling her forward once more, and he was the one to kiss her this time. This kiss was still gentle, but it was not as chaste as their previous one. She was tugging on his coat with one hand and pulling his face closer to hers as she tugged at his hair. He wound his arms around her, almost pulling her out of her chair. Placing a hand on the small of her back and pushing her flush against him and moving his other hand to the back of her neck, deepening their kiss.

He was just as gentle, all he did was pull gently at her body, trying to pull her closer. She didn’t know if it was him or her who started it, but soon their kisses became opened mouthed, their lips were moving slowly against each other. She opened her mouth, and he felt her tongue on his lips, so he opened his mouth as well. He moaned in spite of everything, at the feeling of her tongue in his mouth. And he felt the way her mouth pulled into a smile, and he felt a warmth spread through his body.

And they did this for they didn’t know how long, but long enough so when they finally pulled away, they were breathless. His blush matched hers.

They looked at each other for a few seconds through hooded eyes, neither quite sure what to say. And then they untangled from one another. Pieces of her hair had come loose from where they were pinned, and they fell in messy strands around her face. Her skin was flushed, her lips were a darker shade of pink, almost swollen from how fervent their kissing had been. He watched her, not sure where else to look, and he watched as she looked around the room for a few seconds before setting her sights on the bed, and she walked over and gracelessly flopped down on it, so that she was laying on her lack, with her legs dangling off the bed.

He ran a hand through his curls, not quite sure where to go from there. Should he leave? He couldn’t. This was his room. So why wasn’t she leaving? She wasn’t saying anything. How was he to…? But then she spoke up from where she was staring up at the ceiling, her chest still heaving.

“How’s your ear?”

He reached up instinctively and that’s when he realized that his bandage was loose, almost falling off his head, from where her fingers had gripped at his hair.

“Did I hurt you?” she asked.

“No. It is healing well.”

Rather than readjust the bandage, he pulled it off his head. His head hadn’t bled in a long time. It was only his vanity keeping the bandage there.

“It’s funny.” She breathed. “I don’t know a thing about you.”

He watched the rise and fall of her chest for a moment before making a decision. Then he cleared his throat and approached the bed. He stood beside where her legs were, staring down at where she was laying. She shifted her gaze to look at him. She still had a blush on her cheeks, but she didn’t look self-conscious. She looked confidant. Although it was improper, he took a seat on the bed as well, and he laid back so that they were laying side-by-side, looking at the ceiling.

“Apologies.” He finally said. “I was planning on us exchanging mailing addresses so we may remain in contact after the war.” (Arguably one of dumbest things I’ve written in a long time. Don’t know why this line survived in this draft.)

She snorted in amusement, and he felt almost a sense of pride well in his chest. He had never made her laugh before.

She was surprised as well. She never expected him to be one for sarcasm; the wording reminded her of Ben. Ben. She remembered him then. She hadn’t been thinking of him at all when she kissed Simcoe. But now… What would he think of her?

“You say we know nothing of one another, but I am in dissent.”

His voice tore her from her thoughts, and any thoughts of Ben vanished once more.

“I suppose you would. After all, you know everything about me, correct?

He paused, “Well, I wouldn’t say that.

“No, but you know far more about me than I know of you. You have met my family, my childhood acquaintances, my neighbors. You have even stayed as a guest in my home. And what do I know of you? That you hail from Devon and that you were a soldier in Boston.

He considered her words for a moment. He knew she was right. She truly did know nothing of him.

“What would you care to know? My yearly income?

She smirked at the comment, still surprised how witty he was proving to be when formalities were ignored.

“I care little for income, for whatever yours is, it has to fair better than mine.” He didn’t respond to the comment, so she continued, “Perhaps you could start simple. What of your family?

“I believe I told you before that my father was in the Royal Navy.

“What rank?

“Captain. He died at sea when I was a child.

“Oh.

“As for siblings, I had three.

“ _Had_?

“I had a brother and sister die in infancy. As for my brother Percy…” He stopped himself.

“What?

“He drowned. When we were children.

“I’m sorry. Were you close?

“Yes.

His voice trailed off, and she suddenly felt self-conscious for asking.

“What of your mother?

“She died as well.

She swallowed, not quite sure how to process that information. He was an orphan, in a sense, like her. And he had lost a brother, like she had, in a sense,

“I’m sorry.” She couldn’t think of what else to say. “What were you like as a child?” It seemed a silly thing to ask, but she was curious. All she knew was from what she knew from her childhood. She had never done this, never become terribly close with someone who wasn’t from her town. Even people like Baker or MacInnis. They had only exchanged pleasantries. She didn’t really know them.

He exhaled in amusement, “Well, I didn’t pick fights with every other child I encountered, if that’s what you’re asking.” The comment made her smirk. “No, I suppose I had a fine childhood.”

When he wasn’t played the role of soldier, he was good tempered, and he reminded her of Ben, but even more of Samuel in a lot of ways.

Although they hadn’t decided on it, he knew it was his turn to ask a question.

“How old are you?

Twenty and seven. You?

Thirty, well, I will be thirty and one next week.

What date?

“The twenty-fifth.”

Molly’s eyes widened she felt her heart skip a beat. February 25th. That was Ben’s birthday as well. She wondered if this was a sign from God. She wasn’t sure what of. But what if it was some kind of sign?

“I’ll be sure to mention something to Louise.” One of the cooks. “She always prepares desserts when there is a special occasion.”

“You needn’t do that. I wouldn’t want to trouble the woman.

“Hm. I suppose that comes from not being a supporter of slavery.

He tensed beside her.

“Fret not. I’ve decided to continue playing the role of coward, and I have no opinion on the subject.

“That’s not cowardly.

“Oh really?

He shifted beside her and propped himself up on an elbow so that he was partially hovering over her.

“No. Being undecided means you’re willing to hear either perspective.

He suddenly realized what position they were in, and he felt a blush rise in his face once more. She noticed and smirked.

“I don’t see what there is to be ashamed about. After all, your tongue was down my throat not very long ago.

“Are you always this brash?

“Aren’t you?

She propped herself up on an elbow as well so that they were face-to-face again. Their noses were hardly an inch apart. She reached out, gently pressing a hand to his maimed ear. She glanced at his ear curiously. He tried to refrain from shivering at her touch. She met his gaze once more.

“‘ _With equal fire’_.” She quoted. “Those were your words, were they not?

He wanted to kiss her more badly than he ever had before, so he did, but this time gently pressing his lips to hers. This kiss was brief and then he was pushing himself into a sitting position once more. She pouted, disappointed their conversation was ending so soon, and she sat up as well.

“Where are you going?  
“I need another drink.

“Is my company that poor?

“Of course not.

He rose to his feet, retrieving his glass and the bottle from the desk. He hesitated then gestured towards her glass as well. She shook her head, indicating that she didn’t want another drink.

“I best be off anyway.” She stretched briefly. He might be missed downstairs. The last thing they needed was for someone to come looking for him and finding the two of them in her bed. It didn’t matter that nothing had happened. It didn’t matter that they were fully clothed. The scandal would be enough to further ruin her reputation as well as his.

He watched her. More of her hair had become loose when she laid down, and now her hair was very nearly out of its pins entirely. He had only seen her a handful of times with her hair unpinned, and he always liked the way her hair fell in tangles over her shoulders.

Before he could fully comprehend what he was doing, he abandoned the bottle and glass on the desk, and he was back to her once more, sitting beside her, and he took her face in his hand and he kissed her again. He kissed her more ardently this time, pulling her almost flush against him. And he kissed her until both of them were breathing heavily, and until she was softly moaning into their kiss, and then he pulled away, and looked at her flushed face.

“Good evening.” He rasped.

She looked at him for a second, still panting, her mouth slightly agape. Then

“Good night, John.”

* * *

 _Am I a bad person?_ She wondered. She had remained sitting on the edge of her bed for she didn’t know how long, staring at the door. She knew she was not a good person. Why else had she been so cruel to the other children when she was growing up? Yes, those things had been done with good intentions; to protect Selah or Caleb or… She was a murderer. She had killed MacInnis, and although that was not in cold blood, the same could not be said for O’Connell. She could still remember the way her body had tensed atop of him. How her body trembled, but her hands remained steady as they gripped the knife and rammed it into his chest.

She wondered if Simcoe… no, John… She wondered if he ever felt like that as well. She wondered if he felt the same adrenaline when he killed Robeson…

Ben. How could she forget him? He did love her. And she did love him.

How do you fall in love so easily?

She remembered asking Anna that, but Anna had had no answer to the question. And now Molly understood why. How was it possible to feel affection for two people who were so opposite, yet so alike? She did love Ben, and she knew she always would. But John…

...

She understood now why she had been too frightened to admit it to herself before. She was frightened because she did feel affection towards him. And she had been frightened because what of Ben? How was any of this fair to him? She was very different that the person she was when the war began; when Ben left. And although she still loved Ben, she knew she was not the same person, and she was sure the same applied to him as well. He was a soldier. He had killed people. And that frightened her as well. That they had the potential to commit such heinous acts, and that they had committed such acts.

She had hated him.

But when she looked at John now... He was offering to be her savior now. Her protector. And she wished things were different, but they weren't. The matter of the fact was, she needed a protector. No matter how much it annoyed her.

* * *

_She meets with Abe. This is when she gives him the information about John Andre’s letter. When she sees him, she tells Abe that she will not kill Simcoe. Abe decides that he’ll do it then. He reveals that he’s been planning to kill Simcoe for weeks now, all of it done without Molly’s knowledge. She’s outraged that he’s blatantly excluded her again._

I’m not going to do it.

What do you mean you’re not going to do it? Molly! You said you would!

I’m not doing it. You can’t make me.

Then I will. You’ve done nothing but waste time.

Not, Abe, wait. We can’t kill him.

And why not?

I need you to trust me.

Oh, like how I trusted you when you said you were plotting his murder? Like how I trusted you to be the one to see to it that he was dead?

Abe.

What?

We can use him. He’s more useful alive.

Oh, really?

Aye.

And what have you possibly overheard from our favorite Captain?

One of Washington’s generals has made contact with Major Andre. Andre’s planning on meeting the turncoat in person in the coming weeks.

How do you know this?

...

“We can’t kill him.

“No. _You_ can’t kill him. But _I_ can. Listen, I’ve already talked to Wakefield.

Already? He’d already been making plans despite trusting her to see the deed through.

The entire thing is set. I’ve found some volunteers. I’m to rob the garrison and return some of the muskets to their rightful owners. Then, we’re after Simcoe and his Rangers.

Abe!

No. If I were you, I’d be making contact with Caleb. We’ll need him to help all of us flee once we’re done. You, me, Thomas, Mary… all of us. And then our work here is done.

Abe!

“Look after yourself.

* * *

She went to his quarters that evening.

She knocked on his door. He answered and stood there eyeing her uncertainly. He peered into the hallway and upon seeing she was alone, he stepped aside so she could enter. He closed the door quietly behind her.

“Molly.” He greeted, but then he noticed she was distressed. “What is it?”

And as the words left her lips, Molly didn’t feel as if she was the one saying the words. She still couldn’t believe what she was doing. She felt numb. But then the words tumbled from her lips, “It’s Abe. He’s going to rob the garrison. He intends to kill you.”

_The chapter was going to end on a cliffhanger with Molly going to Simcoe and telling him of Abe’s plan to kill him._


End file.
